#the speech delay just makes sense

[megaderping]

I feel like when people compare Akechi to Light Yagami, they fundamentally misunderstand his character. Their similarities really end at their designs, and Light is the kind of person Akechi would despise. Light Yagami lives a pretty privileged life at the start of Death Note. He has a stable home, with two parents and a sister who care about him. He's a successful student. There isn't really inherent tragedy to his life. The whole reason he starts using the Death Note is a mix of curiosity and a jaded worldview, and when it works it empowers him, very quickly goes to his head, as he believes he is one who can be a god of a "new world" once the shock of his initial kills wears off. While his first kill was to help someone, that altruism didn't last. He is in charge of his choices, while Ryuk mostly vibes and maybe eggs him on a little. Fundamentally, Light has something Akechi lacks: agency, and a comfortable life he took for granted. Meanwhile, Akechi is someone who lived on the bottom rung of Japanese society. His very existence is shameful there, between his mother being a sex worker, his status as an illegitimate/"throw away" child, and his mother's suicide. Years languishing in a foster system that is notoriously inhumane, in a country where 90% of the adoptions are grown men for inheritance and patriarchal reasons, while very few children in the system find permanent homes. When Akechi awakens his power, he approaches Shido not because he wants to kill people but for a stupid revenge plan cooked up by a traumatized child who's been nudged along by a malevolent god. He wants to build Shido up so that at the height of his power, he can expose him for the monster he really is, while another part of him genuinely wants to be useful to Shido, as Cogkechi later calls out. His feelings are a mess of contradictions, and so it's no surprise that Shido was able to mold him into his assassin at only 15 years old. It's also worth noting that Akechi only approaches Shido with his ability to cause psychotic breakdowns. Shido is the one who teaches and instructs him to do shutdowns. He's still complicit, very sunk cost with his revenge plan, but as I spoke of here, even if he wanted to quit, he couldn't alone. Shido's cleaner and control of the law and ability to effortlessly turn him in would render the Metaverse his only safe haven. I think people look at 11/20 Akechi and Akechi in the early parts of the engine room and assume that's just his "true self," when in reality it's another mask. Royal makes it very clear because in Rank 7, he outright warns Joker of what's to come via a pool metaphor and offers an out (though he's MUCH happier if you don't take it/stick to your principles), and in Rank 8, he goes on that big "I hate you" speech... while Sunset Bridge is playing. Y'know, the song that plays at the end of most confidants to reaffirm bonds. So when he smiles as he shoots what he assumes to be Joker, that doesn't mean he's genuinely happy. More likely, he's an emotional clusterfuck, given he also is disoriented enough to namedrop "Shido-san" over the phone, and in the subsequent meeting with Shido, tells him not to kill the Phantom Thieves and that Morgana is "just a cat." Yes, he says they'll make them fear for the rest of their lives, but remember, he's talking to Shido. The things he says are likely all incredibly calculated to sound appealing to Shido. And when you consider that he planned to utterly destroy Shido's reputation after the election, the "delay" makes even more sense.

Later, Akechi goes on about how the people he induced shutdowns on were deserving of their fates, but I don't think he believes it so much as it's the only way he could convince himself that it was worth it, and given how much society failed him, and given how many of the people he targeted were likely rivals/competitors or rich fucks, I think he'd be less inclined to assume good faith. Kunikazu Okumura was not an innocent little victim, after all. He was one of the people who requested breakdowns and shutdowns the most. I think Akechi enjoyed killing him not because of how it'd hurt Haru, but because of catharsis. Because Okumura is just as monstrous as Shido, so why should he feel remorse? However, I don't believe he feels the same about Wakaba, as when he discusses her with Shido, he mentions how her fate was because she refused to willingly work for him. It's another justification, but I personally think Wakaba's death was the most painful for him because he was effectively making Futaba just like him. That's why I think his reaction to Sae threatening Sojiro's custody was genuine. Anyway, evil grinning Akechi is just another mask, as I said. Keep in mind, this is someone who laments not meeting Joker years ago, someone who Morgana outright points out is lying about his hatred. And that's the thing. Light Yagami, while a really fascinating character, is not someone who had all this childhood suffering or lack of agency. He does not regret his actions in the slightest and goes down due to his own hubris in both the anime and the manga. While you can argue that Ryuk set him up by dropping the Death Note, Light was the one who picked it up and chose to use it. Any nudging from Ryuk didn't coerce Light into doing it because Light seized the opportunity. No, if Light Yagami is like anyone in Persona 5, it's Masayoshi Shido, not Goro Akechi. Both believe they are god/god's chosen, that they are the ones who will reshape the world to their ideals, and to be frank, both use and abuse women to serve their own purposes. Goro Akechi goes down sacrificing himself for the Thieves and pleading with them to stop his father and again in Maruki's reality when he refuses to let Joker accept a gilded prison of a world for his sake when he knows better than anyone what it's like to have no true freedom. If you max his confidant, you see him in the postcredits, leaving his survival entirely possible, and I think it works because at the end of the day, Akechi was meant to be a victim and a foil. Light is a villain protagonist and a cautionary tale. Though its his POV we follow, he isn't someone we're meant to root for, but I definitely don't think enjoying the character is a bad thing at all. He's really interesting! I just think that a lot of the Akechi and Light comparisons are surface level at best.

#goro akechi #persona 5 #p5r spoilers #character analysis #long post #death note spoilers

[oriigami]

(spoilers for both knives out movies ahead)

i think what i really enjoy about knives out and glass onion is that they are, while not completely fair-play whodunnits, pretty close to it.

a fair-play whodunnit is a murder mystery which is entirely solvable by the viewer before the detective sums everything up at the end; the viewer is given the same information as the characters, and the same opportunity to figure everything out. this is a style some modern detective stories like to break to preserve the ability to catch the viewer off guard, as hbomberguy elaborates at some length in his sherlock is garbage and here's why video.

knives out gives you almost all the information you need. its possible to figure out on ransom's introduction that there is, at least, something missing from his story, that he returned to the house for some reason after leaving; the dogs were heard barking the night of harlan's death, and he is the only one they are seen reacting aggressively to. likewise, the audience hears nana saying 'ransom, are you back again already?' well before blanc learns about it and realizes its importance.

the only crucial piece of evidence any of the characters ever see that the audience doesn't is the toxicology report, which the audience doesn't get a chance to see before blanc's summation at the end revealing marta's innocence. but even with that omission, it's possible to guess harlan wasn't poisoned! marta lists off the symptoms of morphine poisoning at five and ten minutes on screen, and we see him exhibiting none of them, even after she's left and snuck back in, which must have been more than ten minutes after the initial injection. later we see fran suffering an overdose of the same drug, and she's far more debilitated than harlan was even in his last moments.

glass onion, of course, plays a lot more fast and loose with this concept, because it hides large swathes of the setup from the viewer until the halfway point. blanc actually has a lot more information than the viewer until we get the extended flashback in the middle of the movie.

however, after you know the circumstances of andi's death, like blanc says, you can completely guess that miles killed her! helen even suggests it during one of their first conversations, because it's obvious! of course he did! the only thing the movie does to delay this conclusion is throw out a swarm of red herrings in presenting motive and opportunity for everyone else, but the motive is obvious. the main thing both the audience and blanc need to realize is just that miles is stupid enough to do it. blanc uses his countless malapropisms as evidence when reaching this conclusion, but he doesn't even need to; it's absolutely obvious from the fact, readily available to the audience, that HE MADE HIS HOUSE INTO A BOMB.

likewise, the movie shows you that miles handed duke the drink that killed him, though this is later corrected during his self-serving flashback. you can see the outline of a phone in miles's back pocket after duke's murder even though miles doesn't own a phone, and even a brief shot of him sticking duke's gun in the ice bucket on the table.

additionally, putting a little bit of thought into miles's justification for the lights going out reveals it makes no sense. he was supposed to give a big speech as part of the murder mystery?? no he wasn't! he's dead at this point! he gets shot by the crossbow at dinner! why would he be giving a big speech at 10 pm? because he made up the lights going out on the fly based on blanc's earlier comment, and didn't think it through at all, like everything he does!

i'm not gonna pretend i figured either of these movies out ahead of time on the first viewing- i totally didn't! but i know when the next one comes out, i'm going to be watching very carefully, and probably doing a lot of rewinding.

#glass onion #knives out #glass onion spoilers #knives out spoilers

[jojomheffer]

I THINK DILUC IS AUTISTIC

Game Diluc.

These are some symptoms that I hc him having them. Also, this is something I have the right to say because I also have ASD (Autistic spectrum disorder).

In behavior: aggression, self-mutilation, crying, lack of eye contact, shouting, hyperactivity, involuntary imitation of another person's movements, impulsivity, inappropriate social interaction, irritability, repetitive movements, repetition of meaningless words, meaningless repetition of one's own words or persistent repetition of words or actions.

I headcanon him having a lot of those in his childhood, mainly the repetition and imitation of things and hyperactivity. He lacked eye contact because of his disorder but he was taught to look people in the eyes when he grew up, yes that's possible, just like someone with ADHD can be taught on how to be focused and determined. He stopped doing it when he grew up because those are symptoms that catch mainly the kids.

The social interaction, the shouting, the aggression... all of the others, he still have them, but it's too subtle to notice. You can notice when you see other characters talking about him, and some others he might hide them.

Developmentally: speech delay in a child or learning disability

Bitch took YEARS to get used to his vision and when he got used to it, he left it at home to beat the fatui's ass.

In cognition: lack of attention or intense interest in a limited number of things

He fucking loves chess, is completely obsessed about it. He also loves creating new drinks and reading history books. Dont ask me, I just feel it from the deep of my neurodivergent brain.

Psychological symptoms: depression or ignoring the emotions of others

Do I have to say anything?

In speech: speech disorder or loss of speech

He has to think a lot to get to a phrase that makes sense, his brain just gets words randomly according to the situation and he has to think of a way of connecting them. It takes some time, but it is a game that we have to be quick so i headcanon that if we were there, we would have to take long in trying to get him to speak.

Also common: constant tiptoeing, anxiety, lack of empathy, sensitivity to sound or tic

He has tics in his eyes, where he looks to the side for bare seconds and then come back, it is due to the disorder lack of eye contact, but he was taught to do it so he automatically comes back to looking into the eyes of the person. Lack of empathy is not understanding people's emotions, not even his. He has to read a lot of books to get a conclusion of how you felt in a rainy day or maybe in a sunny day. Anxiety, I don't have to talk about it, it turns out into hyperactivity and he overthinks of 50 things at the same time. The tiptoeing he also did in his childhood, but stopped because of his development.

#genshin diluc #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x you #crepus ragnvindr #ragnvindr brothers #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin leaks #genshin x you #genshin imagines

[mynamesaplant]

Friendship Smells like Pizza and Laundry Detergent

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Just a little short story about @critterbitter's hc of Emmet, Ingo, and Elesa. Please go take a look at Critter's work, it is beautiful in every sense of the word.

Japanese is not my native language, so if I've made any errors please let me know. Also, I'm sorry for the phonetic spelling for Clay in advance.

Don't like to read on Tumblr? Read it here on AO3.

Enjoy!~

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Tonight was the night.

Elesa was coming over for a sleep over.

Drayden would have found it amusing that his nephews were running all around his house preparing for their friend’s arrival, but they were quite particular about how they wanted the house to look, and it was turning his house upside down. Already the linen cupboard and beds were ransacked for every sheet, blanket, comforter, and pillow that he owned. All around him, the boys meticulously constructed a pillow fort, and it took every ounce of willpower in his body to ask them not to make such a mess of his living room.

He sucked it up. They were excited their friend was coming over – their only friend.

Listening to Ingo’s meandering request to have their friend over for a sleep over, Drayden could tell this meant a lot to them. Even Emmet, who was hard pressed to pipe up his opinions to him was bobbing his head along in time with his brother’s speech and offered stilted yeps to emphasize his brother’s points, eyes glittering with such hope that it physically pained the Dragon master to say no.

“Verrrrry good!”

Emmet chirped, crawling out by the tv, which also had a sheet over it. They had tried to put a quilt over it and Drayden pointedly told them no. Although not the newest model by a long shot (he hadn’t been able to be as frivolous with his money since his nephews had been dumped come to live with him), he didn’t want to risk the television falling over and breaking, or worse injuring one of the kids. Emmet and Ingo were exceedingly careful with everything in the house, they treated everything like glass with a steady mantra of ‘safety first’ that he was sure would be seared into his brain for the remainder of his days.

With this one exception, the twins frequently kept to themselves and their own possessions, either roaming his property, Anville Town, or in the woods just outside town. This brief and altogether understandable lapse of judgement Drayden could overlook – just this once.

“Ingo, are the snacks secured?”

“Affirmative!”

Ingo moved into his periphery with an armload of bags, ducking beneath the patchwork fort to deposit them, and the other was bouncing on the balls of his feet, working out his excitement through movement. Drayden watched this all go down from his armchair that he had dragged out of the way for them to build, steely eyes glancing over the top of his drooping newspaper every so often. The boys surveyed their work, beaming in their own ways at the admittedly impressive arrangement.

“Please try not to spill anything on to the carpet.”

Their uncle rumbled and they both assured him that that would not happen. They had already planned for any accidents by retrieving a towel and handheld vacuum to clean up any messes that were inadvertently created.

“We shan’t.”

Ingo promised and Drayden grumbled something unintelligible behind the rag, staring at the same article he’d been reading about the delays for the new rail lines out of Nimbasa. Something about permits and a minor scandal with the head of transportation using Pokémon laborers that weren’t native to Unova.

Warm weight settled against his legs and Drayden lowered the paper to his lap, narrowly avoiding Emmet and Ingo as they stared up at him. He braces himself because he knows this look – although it was not presented in this double whammy form – and it usually came with an out of the ordinary request.

“Yes?”

“We would like to request three pizzas tonight because we are not sure if Elesa will like the toppings we like.”

Drayden had to bite his tongue because nobody liked the toppings the twins liked. Most children didn’t like white pizza with broccoli or Alolan style – but Emmet and Ingo did.

“You’re not going to eat three pizzas worth of pizza. It’s bad for you.” Not to mention all the junk food that they bought in preparation for the sleepover. They’re kids Drayden, he told himself, they’re excited and their eyes are literally bigger than their stomachs in this case.

Compromise.

“I’ll get you some personal pizzas. How does that sound?”

They looked positively ecstatic.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bedraggled looking man who escorted his young daughter to his door had a glassy look to his eyes, waving to his daughter as she offered Drayden a polite bow and foreign greeting to Drayden before tearing over to Emmet and Ingo. Her Blitzle tottered in after her cautiously with a red backpack draped over the Pokémon’s back. If Drayden had to guess from the flared nostrils and the darting eyes, the small equine creature could smell the Druddigon lurking in his room on the second floor and was nervous. His Druddigon was too well trained to attack, but smaller Pokémon tended to get nervous around most dragons.

“Thank you for having my daughter over.”

Drayden had almost forgotten the man was there, so small and quiet as to be completely unnoticeable. His voice was flat, almost toneless, which reminded Drayden of Emmet, who had a hard time conveying his emotion through his words unlike his brother. This man sounded exhausted.

“Sure…”

There was an uncomfortable pause as the man blinked at him, Drayden almost thought he wouldn’t supply his name – instead, just pass out in his doorway.

“Rin Kamitsure.”

“Drayden Gray.”

Rin’s torso was already bending forward, clearly a reflex he had developed from a lifetime of practice before he jerked to a stop. His arm lurched up, perfectly straight to the point of looking uncomfortable, holding out his hand and staring expectantly for Drayden to take it.

The handshake was cold, absolutely nothing friendly to the stiff fingers, and went on for far too long, neither of them seemed capable of breaking the shake first.

“さようならお父さん.”

Rin’s daughter’s voice sounded flinty, almost as though she was annoyed that he was still there. If her father noticed the chill to her voice, he didn’t acknowledge it, although Drayden guessed he most certainly did not from the slow way he let go of the Dragon master’s hand.

“Bye Ellie.”

He nodded to Drayden and trudged back up the walkway and down the street. When he turned around to face the children, Emmet and Ingo were thumbing through some books while the girl scribbled feverishly on a whiteboard. With her tongue stuck between her teeth, she was scribbling symbols that were unfamiliar to Drayden with careful strokes of the marker before her hands moved in a flurry before her. That he recognized as sign. The boys had been practicing together. This girl must have been the reason.

The signing was actually helping his nephews a lot, each had their own unique challenges with how they communicated with the world around them, and signing was helping them bring a different option for verbalizing their thoughts and feelings. Emmet in particular was fast to pick it up, his lack of inflection was made up for by his expressive features, which helped emphasis his signing. Ingo’s language was emotional from the word go, but his face was like stone, that’s where his gesticulations and other body language helped him articulate his sign better.

Drayden never could read either unless they told him how they felt. It also didn’t help that the brothers were so in sync with one another that they often left their uncle metaphorically scrambling to catch up to understand them.

“Oh! Elesa, you must meet our uncle.” Ingo insisted, ushering her over to him where she bowed again. Her face scrunched and she glanced toward his nephews, Emmet silently mouthing the words ‘hello sir’ while Ingo announced that this was their goof friend Elesa. “She moved here recently with her father from Sinnoh.”

“Hello… sir?”

She said slowly, watching Emmet mouth the words one more time, before looking up at Drayden. Most children found him intimidating between his stature and inscrutable expression, but this little girl looked him in the eye with nothing short of fierce determination. She refused to be intimidated. That made him smile.

“Nice to meet you.”

Ingo frantically flipped through the pages of the book still in his hand and squinted at the page – dear Reshiram, was Ingo going to need glasses soon? Yet another thing to add to the ever-growing list of things he didn’t sign up for but found himself doing. The text was inches from his nose,

“はじめまして.”

It must have been a translation into Kantonese and Elesa gingerly corrected his pronunciation. Drayden had prepared to get virtually no sleep tonight because the kids would be loud, but it appeared he had nothing to worry about.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their uncle said he would be in his study if they needed anything after ordering their pizzas for the kids and Bouffalant burger for himself. He handed Ingo some money to tip the driver and reiterated to be careful with any food and drinks on the carpet.

Ingo offered him a smile, something that made Drayden’s heart warm a little because that did not always sync up properly with his eyes to make the expression seem so genuine. He truly wished he felt that way more often, but that kernel of resentment he felt for Kaita and Lucielle – especially Kaita. His sister all but dumped her sons on him, their parents too elderly to look after them and Lucielle’s father rendered incapable of care due to dementia.

His burgeoning career nearly came to a screeching halt when Emmet and Ingo were unceremoniously dropped into his life, Drayden was lucky he had such good friends like Clay and Lenora who offered him endless support and advice.

------

“s’not their fault, ye can’t blame ‘em fer what their mas did.”

Clay had told him, taking a long pull on his cigar just as Drayden stamped out his half-smoked cigarette. A habit he had only recently picked up and was not trying too hard to quit. The clove scented smoke soothed his nerves like nothing else could these days.

“Be patient. Kids like them can have a hard time expressing themselves.”

Lenora advised when Drayden came to her with the twins’ charts, panicked because he wasn’t sure he would be able to sufficiently take care of children like Emmet and Ingo. Audiobook and podcast recommendations always arrived in his emails when he felt the weight of the situation suffocating him.

------

He was glad he listened to her because they had bloomed into such wonderful boys.

Although that bitterness was still rooted in his heart, he did his very best to never expose it to Emmet and Ingo, because they had done nothing to earn his ire. It shamed Drayden to no end that sometimes it did come out in the form of hands-off parenting, in his absence where his nephews needed a parent (one which he was never quite prepared to be).

Drayden did the unthinkable and lightly tousled Ingo’s hair, reminding him to get the door when the delivery driver came, and to give the driver their tip. When he removed his hands, Ingo’s eyes were round and shining, his mouth was slightly open as he looked up at his uncle. His nephew managed a nod, lifting his hands to pat his hair, and slowly made his way back to his brother and their friend.

About thirty minutes later their pizzas arrived and all three kids pelted toward the door, lurking just over Ingo’s shoulder like hungry Sharpedo in anticipation. A chorus of ‘thank yous’ sent the delivery driver on her way, grinning a little at the kids as the door closed. With the personal pizzas divvied up properly, the trio clambered into the fort and settled in for the preselected documentary.

Tynamo and Blitzle were under there, already snoozing as the kids ate and watched the screen transfixed with the visuals. Emmet and Ingo had selected a documentary about Unova, selecting Kantonese subtitles for Elesa so she didn’t have to rely on the audio. Although it wasn’t their preference – that was reserved for trains and professional battling – the boys chose this documentary to help acquaint Elesa to the unfamiliar region she found herself in. She didn’t really seem to have an interest in Unova at all, so they wanted to change that.

To them, Unova was the most beautiful place in the whole world, but admittedly, they hadn’t been to many places. Galar sounded amazing, but Emmet and Ingo had to acknowledge that they were biased because there were just so many trains there – so it had to be amazing, right?

They had come to love Unova through the pictures and trinkets that their mothers sent to them. Glass paperweights that contained stylized Frillish suspended in a permanent bubble from Humilau. Frayed ticket stubs from the sports arenas in Nimbasa. Luminous crystals that refracted a thousand tiny rainbows, and still contained a little bit of static hidden in their crystalline depths, from Chargestone Cavern. Pressed flowers and leaves that still smelled as fresh as the day they were picked from Pinwheel Forest. Vibrant, but uncomfortable t-shirts advertising the famous Casteliacone alongside the stand’s Vanilluxe mascot, Mochi.

But their most prized possession? Two slightly tarnished, golden subway tokens with a stamp of the front of Gear Station on one side and the NTA symbol on the other. The transit system operated on automated cards and scanners and digital tickets nowadays, but these? These things were ancient. Mom had found them and sent them back with burgundy lipstick smudged at the bottom by their names.

Found in an antique shop a few blocks from the station. A set soon to follow, my loves.

The train set had never come, so Emmet and Ingo learned to be satisfied with the tokens.

“エモンガ?”

Elesa jerked forward with her eyes wide while she gesticulated at the screen with a ferocity that made the Pokémon wake with a start. Blitzle nickered softly, stretching his neck to rest on Elesa’s knee and nuzzling her skirt until her hand came to stroke his flank absently. Tynamo flitted over to Emmet, tucking himself into the loose collar of his trainer’s sweater and buzzing Emmet with a faint electrical charge.

A pair of Emolga were skittering across the screen; chittering and squeaking while they darted through the trees of Lostlorn Forest without a care in the world at the humans filming them. The next shot cut to two males with their hackles raised and massive incisors displayed in their yawning maws, the smaller one was getting bullied out of the other male’s territory. Another shot took the documentary to a whole tree hollow full of feathery down, fur, leaves, and dry grass with small, glittering black Emolga eyes blinking back at the lens.

Elesa covered her mouth to stifle a little noise of adoration, unwittingly leaning forward with undisguised interest at the flying squirrels that plagued the whole of Unova. Emolga were few and far between in Anville Town compared to the rest of the region, they were more at home in the trees, which their hometown lacked to accommodate the rail yard and its acres of track.

“I… love…”

Elesa said the words slowly, feeling how the Galarian syllables felt in her mouth. It sounded like such a mouth full compared to 好きだ. The name of the Pokémon sat fresh in her mind as she watched them on the screen, so carefree and happy that it made her smile softly with a fondness she thought she only held for Pachirisu.

“エモンガ. Eh- what… is エモンガ?”

Emmet and Ingo exchanged looks, although they didn’t understand Kantonese, and they were at times hard pressed to understand other people’s thoughts and feelings, Elesa was telegraphing all they needed to know with how her blue eyes stared with longing at the screen.

“Emolga.”

Emmet said slowly and watched Elesa incline her head, acknowledging that she had heard him but not looking his way.

“Emolga…”

She repeated the word, drawing out each sound as she heard it from Emmet’s lips. They sat in silence for a moment, the documentary had moved on to Venipedes and their natural instinct to curl up when in danger.

“They’re delightful little scamps.”

Ingo finally said, putting down his slice of pizza on a neat square of paper towel and scratching his cheek, hesitating on even bringing it up when Emmet piped up.

“Mom has one. Her name is Daisy. She likes to groom mom’s Stoutland’s coat. Brutus likes that verrrrry much.”

Ingo pursed his lips, balling his hands up in his lap, waiting for the question that inevitably came up when anyone heard about their mothers. Uncle Drayden rarely spoke about them, only passing off the mail that one or both had sent to their sons. People were curious to say the least when Drayden suddenly had two boys in his home and when their guardian didn’t satisfy their curiosity, it meant Emmet and Ingo were often asked directly.

“Where are your mothers?”

Emmet would stare at the ground, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands, and Ingo would go unusually quiet, fumbling for words because he didn’t know what to say. Their mothers dropped them off here one day and they hadn’t seen them since, plenty of letters and trinkets, but never their mothers.

They didn’t know why. They tried to be good kids. They tried to be the best kids. They got good grades. They never caused trouble. They always did their chores and took care of the Pokémon.

It must not have been enough for them to stay.

Emmet shifted on the spot, tapping his nails against the plastic cup to fill the silence, and wordlessly murmuring something under his breath. Ingo knew it was the train schedules in and out of the rail yard. Emmet recited them when he said or did something that he didn’t realize was uncomfortable.

If Elesa noticed the weird pause, she didn’t mention anything, but she did say,

“I… want… one. Emolga.”

The moment of tension passed, and the twins felt like they could breathe again. They didn’t know that Elesa felt those same things about parents and had just as hard of a time putting those feelings into words. For now, they didn’t have to talk about it. They didn’t have to do anything, but sit back, eat pizza, and go to sleep late into the night in a castle of blankets that smelled like fresh laundry detergent.

“Have no fear! We will locate a nest and you can catch as many Emolga as you want.”

“Yep yep! A whole team!”

Elesa caught maybe every other word, but her mouth curled and her eyes crinkled at the excited murmurings of her two friends.

#pokemon #submas #nimbasa trio #pkmn #fanfic #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfiction #i think this is the biggest departure i took from critter's work? #idk i was just thinking about drayden and the other adults #thanks for reading!

[perplexingluciddreams]

An exploration of gender as a nonverbal autistic

This is going to be an attempt at expressing my feelings about my own gender and queerness, as a nonverbal autistic with language difficulties, low awareness of the world around me, barely any sense of self, and so many other things that affect my ability to understand and be aware of the concept of gender and sexuality to begin with.

I tried to write this like a properly structured essay, but because my thoughts are so disorganised in general (and I have so many thoughts on this topic), I couldn’t manage that. So, I have decided to present this as if it is a collection of journal entries; that is basically what this is, in truth! You will just have to experience the disorganisation in a similar way to how I experience my own mind. The most organising I was able to do was split it up into some categories, to make it slightly easier for you, reading this. Some things that I wrote could fit into more than one category, but this is how I chose to divide it up.

I have written a lot about the words I use to describe the way I feel, how I choose those words, and how that has changed over time. My delays in certain areas of development, and the other ways my various disabilities affect me, have a significant impact on the ways I have come to understand my gender identity and the internal (and partially external) process I went through to get to where I am now.

I have no doubt that things will continue to shift and change and as a result, the way I define myself in different contexts will also change. This is just my first attempt at getting a lot of this out of my brain and into words, for other people to read.

I wrote this is many fragments, so it doesn’t flow or connect, and there may be some repetition. Each paragraph may have been written at a completely different time, and therefore doesn’t relate to the last paragraph, or the next. Some of this is just stand-alone statements, some is longer examinations of my feelings. But all of it is true to my experience of the world and of queerness.

I have never been able to express the majority of this before, so I think it is pretty good for a first attempt!

**Note: I make a reference to having speech at a point in my life. I am nonverbal due to late autism regression, and grew up semiverbal with very unreliable speech, and language issues. I had very poor communication.**

Here we go!

I am inserting a “read more” here because this is very long. Really, very long.

Part 1 - The Words

I don't really think of myself as a man or a woman, or a boy or a girl. I have called myself a transsexual man before, simply because that is the clearest way to explain to someone where I'm coming from and where I'm headed. But I don't particularly like the word "man" to describe myself. I like the word boy, just because the word is nice. But that doesn't mean I am insistent on people calling me a boy. 

I choose the words I use for myself simply from what I like the sound or feel of the most. The last thing I want is to be boxed in, though. I only use labels as descriptors, to explain to other people - they are a tool to communicate something, not a set of limits and boundaries to put on myself.

I know a lot of people might read this and think "that sounds like nonbinary", but I don't use that word. Again, simply because I don't like the way it sounds or feels when i read/write/hear it. And yes, I suppose I do exist outside the conventional binary, but that would be the case regardless of whether I was transsexual or not, because of my autism. So that is not something that needs to be labeled in my opinion (for me personally). Because the conventional binary is not something that exists in my experience of the world.

I hate that there's one set of accepted terminology to label queerness - such a fluid and complex piece of identity - and that I am even more "other" if I choose to say that I AM female, I WAS a girl. I don't like the word transgender unless it is being used as a verb - transing gender. I like the word transsexual because it describes something I will DO (top surgery, eventually). And partly because of how it sounds and the pattern of typing it on a keyboard.

My gender is what I DO, not what I AM. Gender as a verb.

Socially, changing my name and pronouns is much more connected to my barely-there sense of self, and past trauma. I needed to start again, because I felt that my life had changed completely (and it *had*). I like he/him pronouns because they sound different to how i was always referred to growing up. And they simply sound nicer. 

Even though I don't understand most of the social stuff that comes with gender stuff, I still have positive and negative connections to certain gender-related things. And relating to the way I was raised - it still affects me, even though I can't grasp the complexity of how and why.

I enjoy the fact that I am fucking with gender, fucking with expectations. I am a female that is also a boy. I love the contradiction.

I still call myself female, because if people really mean it when they say "gender and sex is separate", then "female" does not mean "girl" or "woman".

Most words I used to describe myself as a child were put on me by other people. I used to repeat them over and over in my mind, as if to explain to myself that that's what I am. Especially my own name. I felt that if I just repeated it enough then maybe those words would stick and feel real. They never did. I don't know what words I would use to describe myself now, but I don't think I need to know. I'm just me. No words are needed for that.

When I just exist as myself in the world, words are barely relevant. My world is so sensory-based and rich in sensations that there's no point even trying to put words to it.

I don't think there's anything wrong with creating new words for things that already have words to describe them, language is constantly evolving and different people will have different experiences that they want to describe in different ways. However, I don't think it is useful to argue for stopping the usage of "outdated" terms, as there are always going to be people who prefer those terms. Not all people are going to agree on a word that they find most fitting or appropriate, even in one community.

I try my best to examine my feelings about myself and what causes a good reaction in me and what causes bad reaction in me. And then I use whatever words I have to try and explain it as best as I can.

Often the words I have are not enough and either I cannot communicate something at all, or I try and it is inaccurate and/or inadequate.

It is very difficult for me to put such abstract thoughts/concepts/feelings into words, I lack the language for that and often also the awareness - there is so many steps to communicating something for me. For example, most people have the automatic urge to communicate things, and know that option is always there. For me, it takes mental work to even remember other people exist and I am capable of interaction with them. And of course after that follows so much more work to do the actual communicating.

For years I thought of the words "transgender" and "transsexual" as off limits. "Those are the things I am not allowed to be".

A lot of words have shaky definitions and that makes it hard for me to even understand what they mean, never mind use them to describe myself.

I would often rather use a phrase, or a paragraph, to describe myself, rather than a singular word. I really don't want to be misunderstood. 

I think that the way I experience gender cannot be put into words, and it certainly can't be labeled with one thing. I'm just grateful to have the opportunity to even try and communicate these things, and to explore it openly in the first place. Because of course I would still explore it inside my own head, even if I didn't have the words or couldn't tell anybody - I was already doing that, before I had access to all this new language.

I know a lot of people don't like the word "tomboy", but since I was a kid I've always really liked it. It brings to mind a mental image of young girls (in a time when clothing for men and women was much more separated) dressing up in boys clothes, boys school uniform, and the feeling of freedom from that. I always wished people would call me a tomboy when I was a kid.

I had a feeling of "oh, that's what I want to be when I grow up", when I first learnt of what butch is. Even though I am not sure at all of my sexuality, because that relates to other people and I am never sure how I relate to other people, or if that’s even possible, especially in a romantic or sexual way.

The words I use will always be slightly "out of date", or "not right", because of the time it takes my brain to catch up with everything. I will never find words to properly describe myself in a way that feels fully correct. I live in a world of my own that doesn't need words, only the acknowledgement of a feeling inside my own head. However, that is not very useful when trying to communicate things to other people.

Some words just taste and sound like defiance.

Part 2 - My Physical Existence

With puberty, I had so much discomfort with the change in my body, not only because it felt as if I was developing wrong, but also because of age and developmental stage - I felt it was too early, I was not ready for that. Big changes are bad.

I do have dysphoria, but only really around my chest, and the way people refer to me (which is also complicated and related to trauma). And other than that, I don't care a lot about how I am viewed, as long as I feel free to express myself however I want.

Aside from my chest, I am comfortable being female. I like having a vulva (as much as it intrigues me about what having a penis is like), I don't want to change that about my body. I don't mind having a uterus (apart from menstruation, which is not fun, but it's not the worst thing ever and it doesn't make me feel overly dysphoric).

I recognise that I have a physical form. I did have to develop the awareness of that, but I do not see that as ME. I am just a floating mass of thoughts and feelings and experiences.

My body was made for me, it wasn't made wrong. There are things I need to change about this body to make it more comfortable to exist in, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was made wrong to begin with, despite feeling that way sometimes.

Disabled bodies inherently break the rules.

Many times I have wondered, perhaps, if my chest were much smaller, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. The main thing I struggle with due to my very large chest, is the physical discomfort. It aggravates my sensory issues in a massive way, it causes back and rib pain from the weight and pressure. The ways that having a large chest increases symptoms of my disabilities are the biggest reason for needing top surgery. Gender wise, I think I would be unbothered by a more “neutral” body, where I could easily forget about my birth sex. If/when I get top surgery, I will be removing my entire chest - the end result being a flat chest - however if I naturally had very small breasts I wonder whether I would pursue top surgery at all. I’m not sure of the answer to this, I can’t imagine hypothetical situations well, but it’s something I think about often.

I find relief in having physical reminders that it is different now (to when I was a child) and I won't get hurt again, I am safe now. I now have a buzzcut that I touch every time I am scared and remember it is not like when my hair was long, not anymore.

Sensory issues and physical limitations affect my physical appearance. And, my mannerisms are affected. I cannot look how I WANT to look. How I WISH I looked. As a result, my perception of myself and my external appearance, are even further divided. My generally low awareness and weak sense of self comes into play here as well. There is such a disconnect.

Part 3 - Awareness and Understanding

I can't stick labels on myself because in order to do that, I need to perceive myself as a person first. If other people want to use certain words to describe the way I am and the way I try to find joy and comfort in this confusing and scary world, that's absolutely fine by me - words are important and helpful and useful. But I don't know enough about the character that other people see and perceive, to say those things about "me".

I don't understand the concept of gender at all really. For me being trans is just about having more of the things that make me happier and more comfortable. I don't know what it means to BE a boy, versus being a girl - just that, out of the two, I would much rather be a boy. It is complicated, having such strong feelings towards and/or against things that I barely grasp the concept of.

My (lack of) understanding of gender and awareness of the world and myself definitely impact the way I define my identity. I would like to say that I am not bothered about labels much. That, to me the human experience is too complex and varied and colourful to be fit into black and white labels, I am just somewhere on the spectrum of human, but as descriptors they can be useful. And all of that is true, however, I do have intense preferences on which words I and others use to refer to me, even if I don’t at all understand why. Those preferences have shifted over time, as well, which sparks a period of questioning and examination, every time I hear someone use a word I previously preferred and find myself physically recoiling from the discomfort.

I cannot understand social constructs such as gender and gender roles. It just add to the confusion that surrounds my brain every day of my life.

If someone views me as a woman (or a girl), nowadays I am okay with that. It definitely would have bothered younger me, because I couldn't yet wrap my head around the complexity and fluidity of identity, and how it can't always be described by words with strict definitions. But as long as people use the name I chose for myself, and refer to me in the the way I ask, I am okay with any assumptions they may make about me based on my outward appearance. Because it's me, and how I define my own identity, that matters. Not how I look to other people. And my appearance is not something I have much control over at all, anyway. The first thing people notice about me is that I’m disabled.

Part 4 - Growing Up

The stages to breaking down my identity enough to identify it as a trans experience, for me, were this. First, it was necessary to understand what gender and sex is, and that there’s a difference between the two. Then, to understand social roles assigned to male and female that create "girl" and "boy" expectations. Thirdly, to have enough awareness of myself and understand my individual experience (and be able to compare my experience to others’) enough to figure out how I feel about gender. Lastly, to finally get communication skills and the control over my life to be able to TELL anyone. This last step is a work in progress!

The way I see it, I was by default a girl when I was younger. Because I had no control then, and that's what was assigned to me. I really couldn't say what I wanted almost at all until I was about 16 years old. And one of the first complex things I finally could communicate (at a very basic level, just scraping the surface) was the gender stuff. I attempted this a lot of times before 16 but I simply didn’t have the language, the understanding, the awareness, the communication skills, etc. to get my point across. The first time I tried to tell another person about experiencing queerness, I only had the words “gay” and “lesbian” to use. I knew that these were not right, but that was all I had. The only words I could use were ones I had read or heard, from other people, and that greatly, greatly limited my ability to express my unique internal experiences. Instead of trying to find other words, I instead became very insistent upon being gay/lesbian, only because I knew it was more than that.

I have a lot of memories of scary experiences where my unreliable speech took over and blurted out scripts (delayed echolalia) about being queer (using words I wouldn’t choose), simply because I was trying to learn and understand my feelings about queerness better with watching/reading media from other people. And that lead to ridicule and more exposure than I was ready for or wanted. I didn’t want other people to know, at that stage. I wasn’t done with the processing, and I needed it to stay internal. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

I was one of those people where it was always obvious I am queer, or at least “different” in just about every respect. I have never had a choice to hide it. I mourn the fact that I was never allowed the chance to inform other people of this part of my identity in my own time, with my own words. I am grateful that I even have the privilege of writing this, but there is a reason that there’s so much to write here in one go. There is so much I haven’t had the ability to say at all, until now, and even more that I haven’t had the chance to say right.

Sometimes I have the feeling that, even in the queer community, with the accepted labels and identities, I don't fit. It makes me sad sometimes, that I couldn't fit an accepted “role” or label. I have come to an understanding that that is not what being queer is about at all, which helps. I think part of the reason this upsets me, is because I am so disabled that I will never “fit” in any real queer space with other real queer people. I am left outside, watching from the edges. I am outside of everything. 

But - It comforts me that there have always been people like me, just existing in the world. We have always been here. When I was younger and had all these thoughts and feelings about gender that I didn't understand yet, had no context for, couldn't express and didn't have proof of anyone else who had the same experience - it comforted me to think "if i am feeling this, then statistically another human at some point in time must've felt the same way".

When I was younger I used to believe - queer is what people say when they mean "dirty" and "wrong". It’s what people say when they mean something worse but don't have a word for it.

My identity of being trans is simply my identity of being me.

When I think about "passing" and wishing things to be easier for me, I don't think "I wish I passed as a boy", I find myself wishing I was just a girl, and then my life would be so much less complicated. But, of course, it will always be complicated for me, because of how others perceive my autism first, before anything else. I feel I struggle to be seen as a whole human with a complex human experience, because to so many people I am just my autism. Then also lacking of awareness of gender and only knowing my own feelings - even if I was a girl, I would still have this difficulty! - but still, in this situation, I think "I wish I didn't have these feelings to begin with". I think that shows it is more about the difficulty of coping, rather than other people's view and opinion based on my appearance and outward expression.

When using words to refer to my younger self, those experiences and the way they were labeled and explained at the time does not cease to exist just because I choose to use different words for my present-day self. I am more accepting of this now, I used to really struggle with the fact that it had changed over time and my black-and-white thinking of “one or the other is true”, made it very challenging.

When I was younger, the only way I knew how to make everything “wrong” with me (autism, physical disabilities, queerness, lack of faith in God, etc.) an understandable concept, was to come up with the overall explanation that “my brain is broken”. I just thought that must be the only answer. It was the only way I could process how many things I thought were completely and utterly wrong about me.

It feels like two facts colliding when I see my birth name, and it makes my brain hurt and my understanding of the world shatter.

Part 5 - The Choice

When people misgender me, it is more upsetting to me that people ignore my choice than that they perceive me "wrong" or make the wrong assumption. I actually don’t mind assumptions much, if someone looks at me and thinks I’m a woman that’s okay with me nowadays - I understand that I appear female, because I am, and a lot of people connect female with woman (or girl, as I am often also assumed to be quite young). But I also can easily forget that someone might not know my pronouns straight away, simply because of struggles with theory of mind - I forget that other people don't automatically know what I know, that they can't read my mind.

It is upsetting only because my choice is not being respected or understood or seen, from my brain’s point of view. Having the ability and opportunity to choose the way I am addressed, the way I identify, the way I talk about myself and want others to talk about me, is incredibly valuable to me. For so long I have only had other people’s words, both for them to freely put onto me, and to use in my laboured attempts at communication. Attempting to grab onto the closest words to my true meaning and piecing them together like jigsaw pieces from different puzzles that don’t quite fit.

Now that I can write something like this, with so many words that are mostly my own, to have someone go against that (whether it is intentional or not - it doesn’t change things because of my low theory of mind, I can’t think from another’s perspective and understand that they don’t know what I know) is spirit breaking.

A lot of the parts of my transition can be (partially) attributed to different things, different reasons. I changed my name partly because I had no connection to my birth name, and struggled to remember to respond to it. It also reminded me of bad memories that I don’t want to relive every day. Having a new name was part of a necessary process of changing every part of my life so it never feels the same way it used to - at least, not in the ways that I can control. I already wrote about how I need top surgery for reasons including but not limited to dysphoria, pain, sensory issues, and so on. I love having my hair buzzed (as much as I have the occasional urge to grow it), because it feels like me. It feel different to when I was younger, and it’s a physical reminder that I am safe now, every time I touch my head or catch a glance of myself in the mirror.

Technically, with these other reasons to attribute many parts of my transition to, I could choose not to identify the way I do. If I didn’t feel a strong connection to queerness, I don’t think I would spend so much time trying to sift through thoughts and feelings and experiences and memories and holding them up against different words to see how it fits. I have basically no awareness of gender outside of myself, I can’t figure out my sexuality because I don’t know how I can even relate to other people. I could put a mental block between me and this topic, and never call myself queer or trans or anything like that ever again.

But - I DO choose to collect these parts of me, and spend the time holding them up to the light and squinting at them from every direction, to come to align them with these words. That is my choice.

I am the same person I always have been, I just get to choose now. I have the power and control.

Thank you for reading, if you got to the end! I love to know that my words are seen by other people.

#from the chaos of my mind #autism #autistic #actually autistic #actually autism #nonverbal #nonspeaking #trans #transgender #transsexual #transmasc #trans man #trans male #gender #gender queer #queer #queerness #this took so so many hours #so much effort #but hopefully worth it!! #it feels worth it

[peterpparkrr]

Banter (ch. 5)

Series: Banter

Pairing: Roy Kent x f!Reader

Summary: Keeley gives you some much needed advice. You and Roy finally talk about your feelings.

A/N: Sorry for the delay with this chapter! Motivation is a fickle mistress and this chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like it to be, but thank you for your patience!

(Ch. 1) (Ch. 2) (Ch. 3) (Ch. 4)

series masterlist

The next morning you wake up to a text from Keeley insisting on a coffee date to debrief the night before unless quote-unquote “Roy already made you breakfast in bed.” 

You ignore the joke and tell her you’ll meet her at your favorite cafe near the stadium.

"Did you and Roy talk all night?" Keeley asks before your butt can make contact with your seat. 

Keeley already has your latte and croissant sitting in front of you which would be a kind gesture from your friend if it wasn’t coupled with Keeley literally bouncing up and down across from you, leaning in as if she’s worried she’ll miss anything.

"Yeah," You reply. "I don't know, it was weird," You admit with a shrug.

"Good weird or bad weird?" She asks with an eye wiggle.

"Well we stayed at Ola’s until Sam kicked us out and so I asked him if he wanted to go for a drink so we could keep talking, right? And then we were at the pub until late, still talking. And he walked me home, but then I was like standing outside my flat, waiting for the goodnight kiss and he just... left?" You explain.

"I made eyes at him and everything," You tell Keeley with a groan. "God, it was so embarrassing."

“Woah,” Keeley murmurs as you place your head in your hands.

It’s not until your shoulders start to shake that Keeley pushes out of her chair and comes to crouch beside you.

“Hey! Hey! You’re alright!” Keeley consoles you as she rubs her hand on your back. 

You laugh mirthlessly as you look up at her and Keeley breathes a sigh of relief when she  realizes you’re laughing and not crying.

“I know I just, I think I’m really starting to like him which is just… shit,” You tell her.

“Remember what we talked about?” Keeley asks you as she grabs your hand and squeezes it tightly.

“You need to be upfront and honest with him about your feelings. Roy’s not a mindreader. Obviously,” She points out. “So maybe you just need to ask him what’s up.” 

“I can’t do that I-” You stammer out in mild panic.

It’s one thing to be rejected in the sense that you’re left at your door, kissless, it’s an entirely different thing to explicitly state your interest and be brutally rejected with words. You’re not sure you can handle the latter.

“Yes you can,” Keeley cuts you off. “You are a strong, capable woman who can do anything she puts her mind to, and Roy would be fucking lucky to have you.”

“I’ll ask him,” You reply with a nod as you set your determination.

“Good girl,” Keeley replies.

“I’ll go ask him right now,” You say as you move to stand up.

“Oh,” Keeley murmurs, her eyes widening as she watches you stand up and collect your things.

“Why not? Right?” You offer her with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Keeley replies. Though she’s suddenly wondering if she’s possibly too good at motivational speeches. “Um, do you want me to come with you?”

“I think I have to do this on my own,” You tell her. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Roy!” You shout as you march through the AFC Richmond hallway, trying to catch up to the dark-haired man striding down the hall towards the coaches' offices.

“Hey,” Roy greets you as he turns to see you headed in his direction.

“Do you want a croissant?” You ask as you push the bag into his hands before he can even respond.

“This croissant has a bite taken out of it,” He points out as he pulls it out of the bag. “I know, I got hungry while I was walking over here,” You tell him. 

“But that’s not why I’m here,” You tell him as you try to get yourself back on track before you lose the sudden burst of self-confidence that carried you the four blocks here.

"Do you like me or don't you?" You ask him.

"Of course I like you," Roy replies.

Oh.

Your chest deflates significantly with relief. That was way easier than you thought it would be. And the ideal outcome. 

Except you’re still confused.

"Well, then why didn't you kiss me last night?" You ask him as your brows furrow again with the reminder of why exactly you’re so confused by this man. “The hot-and-cold, mixed signals are doing my head in.”

"I like to take things slow," Roy tells you. “And I don’t want to rush into things before I understand where you’re at.”

"But you do? Like me, I mean?"  You ask.

"Of course I fucking like you," Roy replies. "Even after you brutally fucking rejected me I liked you."

"You rejected me!" 

"No I fucking didn't," Roy replies, shaking his head. "You walked out of that restaurant before I could even say anything and then told me that being seen with me was a fucking embarrassment."

"That's not how-"

"If either of us is hot-and-cold and impossible to read it's you," He tells you

"But-"

Roy cuts you off.

"I fucking like you, (Y/N), and if I need to keep telling you that every fucking day until it sinks in I'll do it, but only if you admit that you have feelings for me too."

"I-I do,” You reply. "Like you," You tell him.

"I like you a lot, Roy," You tell him.

"Well, there we go," Roy replies. “That wasn’t too hard now was it?”

"But what does that mean?" You ask. "What do we do now?"

"I have one idea," Roy says as he closes the gap between you two and moves forward to cup your face in his hands. 

His lips are pressed against yours and the hand curls around to cup your neck before you can get your brain firing on all cylinders. 

Roy Kent is kissing you. 

Roy Kent is kissing you in the middle of the hallway in your place of work. 

His place of work.

You break apart as quickly as you were pulled together. 

"I..." You stall as your brain struggles to form the words you want to say. 

"What are you doing tonight?" Roy asks you in a low voice as his thumb traces over the curve of your cheek. 

"Normally I'd say something like, you," You reply as you gaze back at him. The heat of that kiss still fresh in your mind. "But apparently you want to take it slow."

"Fuck slow," Roy growls. 

God, he's the hottest man you've ever met. 

"Come over to my place, I'll make us dinner," He tells you.

"As long as you kiss me like that again I'll go wherever you want."

"Tonight," He promises. And you don’t know if it’s about the date or the kiss or the unspoken thing you’re definitely both thinking about right now as you can feel Roy’s eyes tracing down your body.

“Tonight,” You agree before you take a step back and turn to head out before you do something truly reckless.

Like shagging a football coach in a closet.

You’re halfway down the hallway when you realize you’ve forgotten something.

“My croissant!” You shout as you turn around.

“My croissant now, you gave it to me, remember?” Roy replies before he pulls it out of the bag and takes a bite before heading into his office.

Tonight. You remind yourself as you walk out of the training facility. You just need to keep a handle on yourself until tonight.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #roy kent #roy kent fanfic #roy kent x reader #roy kent drabble #roy kent reader insert #ted lasso reader insert #ted lasso series #roy kent series #keeley jones

[sandymybeloved]

okay, I don't know how much sense this is going to make but its been bugging me so bear with

you know how sometimes when people in a fandom go long enough without going back and rewatching/rereading/relistening to/rewhatever, that they end up with slightly warped ideas about the characters and story that are far more based on fanon than anything in the source material. I think the same thing happens with criticisms of shows, some mild critique people had at the time becomes so pervasive and considered so all consuming that it no longer gels with the source material

what got me thinking about this was reading the tags in the @adventure-showdown tournament. a not uncommon thing I read is saying they only remember a single great moment from an episode, but they remember the other story completely, so the other story must be magnitudes better. and when someone is implying that because they only remember the gallery scene from vincent and the doctor, the surrounding episode wasn't worthwhile or even any good, I can't help but think, when was the last time you watched it? was it in 2010 when it aired, if you don't remember anything other than the scene that is regularly shared, and you're criticising based on your lack of memory alone, that just doesn't end up gelling with the episode, its not really a fair criticism

more broadly, half the criticisms I see of Moffat who are almost nonsensical to me as someone who does rewatch. (I'm not going to go into the sexism stuff, my opinions on that are far too nuanced and complicated to make a good example)

one of the most common criticisms is that it made the doctor too important, which every time I see it I can't help but wonder if the person saying it even watched in the first place. Because the thing is this is an idea the moffat era actively engages in constantly, and its not a late development at all, and the conclusion it constatly comes too is that the doctor's ego is too big, he's not as important and powerful as he, or the companions, or the audience percieve him to be.

in eleven's second episode, his plan for the star whale is wrong, it's amy who concludes the star whale won't run away and wants to help. in the series 5 finale, eleven makes a big speech to all his enemies gathered above about how they're afraid of him, and it doesn't work, it is at best a minor delay in their plan, he still ends the episode trapped in the pandorica, AND it turns out the doctor was not the excistential threat they were trying to stop, its the TARDIS, they're only imprisoning him as they (wrongly) think he's the only one capable of flying her

in series 6, in a good man goes to war, after the doctor is done parading about the place, after he's done with his massive ego trip and thinking he's won the day, it turns out he hasn't, he got amy back, but not her baby, melody is gone, and any reuniting that happens later in the series has nothing to do with him in any meaningful sense. a good man goes to war is the doctor getting cocky and it ends badly for his friends

its only more explicit in the capaldi era whre 12 regularly pushes back against people considering him anything more than a guy pottering about the universe in a box helping where he can. yes he is made president of earth, but he doesn't want that, he doesn't want authority. In fact series 10 has several of his most meaningful loses, in extremis there's nothing he can do but get a message out, in oxygen he loses his sight to save bill, in the pyramid at the end of the world the world enters a state of dystopia because bill wants to save him, in the doctor falls he loses everything, including his life, only the audience knows any differently

'moffat made the doctor too important' is not a criticism that gels when you actually watch the show, because it is something his era grapples with, is the doctor powerful, is he important to the universe, and if he is, is it a problem and who for. but the criticism isn't completely unfounded, not liking the material fact that 12 got made president of earth is fine, but 5 years removed its a criticism thats warped and changed into something unrecognisable as a criticism of the show its from, when the show says at one point, not even as subtext, that 12 is just a guy travelling around in a blue box, dropping in and helping out where he can.

anyway, this is helpful to me in that i don't like assuming people are speaking in bad faith, sometimes people do just haven't rewatched recently

#doctor who #i do have another exaple but i think i'll leave this one in the tags #when people say that moffat had the doctor meet someone as a child and then that child once they grew up fell for the doctor #4 times #which is at best disengenuous #and at worst just a lie #is it weird it happened at all #sure #but its blown out of proportion #renette yes that did happen #amy no thay kissed and it was weird and he thought it was weird #but amy hadn't fallen in love with him #and she never did #she was spiralling about marrying rory #river is a massive stretch #i don't remember the doctor ever even exchanging words with her as a child #clara is even more of a stretch #they are not in romantic love textually #maybe clara had a crush on eleven #and again i think he might have said about two words to her as a child #there is no chance she even remembers the encounter #okay done now i think

[raayllum]

There's a chessboard in his dreams.

It doesn't show up often, but Ezran's dreams—or nightmares, he supposes, in this case—have always been reoccurring and strange. They're just more vivid and more violent, now that Aaravos is out. (Everything is worse now that Aaravos is out, now that Runaan is out, but Ezran doesn't blame his brother for either of them. He's not angry. Really.)

The chessboard isn't the one he grew up playing, coaxing his brother and dad and Claudia into games, the pieces painstakingly hand etched and with only the white ones painted. These ones are glossy, almost like glass, each piece having a perfect mirrored reflection of each other, like light and shadow.

And they're not knights or rooks either—but they are pawns.

The inside of the prison reflects the chess board, too, the glossy inside of a pearl even though it'd been smashed to pieces. It's what convinces him that this isn't real, that it's just a dream. (It can't be real. He won't let it be real.)

"Ah, King Ezran," Aaravos greets, seated in one chair behind the white set pieces. White always moves first—which makes sense. This game started centuries before Ezran was born. "How nice of you to join me."

Not that any of them have much of a choice, but Ezran takes a seat and grits his teeth. His crown always feels heavier here, even before he sees the way Aaravos picks up his pint-sized Callum and twirls him between his fingers.

"Are you and your dear brother fighting again?"

Yes, but—"Put him down," Ez growls out.

Aaravos raises a brow, but sets the game piece down on one of the white squares, next to a matching Rayla piece. "Not in the mood for games today, are you?" The Startouch elf steeples his fingers together, and nudges one of his frontline pieces forward across the board.

Then it's Ezran's turn, and he knows there's no point in delaying the inevitable, as he picks which piece to move forward.

The chessboard itself Ezran of the war maps he's been looking at lately, moving troops and people—sending his brother and their best friend off to dangerous locations, because they don't have a choice if they want to stop Aaravos and his corrupted Sun army. Ezran, as king, having to treat those he loves most like pawns.

"Your brother wouldn't sacrifice you for anything," Aaravos croons, once they're halfway through. Ezran's temple pounds, his figure of Aunt Amaya having already felled. His piece of Prince Karim is backed into a corner with nowhere to go; Aaravos has lost only small figures on his end—Opeli, Corvus, Barius—pieces he was never that interested in controlling in the first place. "How sad you can't say the same."

"Shut up!" Ezran snaps, because how dare anyone insinuate he doesn't love his brother? Because he does—no matter what, Ezran loves his brother—but he just doesn't love the way Callum does. His brother never does anything halfway; not magic or his fiery temper or his fiercely protective nature. He loves like an explosion, a super nova, a tidal wave.

Ezran has never loved like that. It's not in his nature. It's what makes him a good (miserable) king.

Ezran slams a piece down, not really looking, but knows in an instant he's made a mistake, because Aaravos grins, wide and sharp, like a cat about to eat a canary.

"Hm, not your best, little king," he says, and bumps a glossy monster-pawn up to where Callum lies. "Checkmate."

Ezran wakes up, clammy and hoarse, his throat tight and heart racing. Bait grunts from somewhere near his hip, the glow toad still asleep, and Ezran is careful not to touch him lest he wake him, and stares at the ceiling of his war tent instead.

He exhales, slowly, and gets out of bed to wash his face.

Tomorrow, he will be thirteen years old. He will give speeches at the crack of dawn and command troops and he and his brother, who's acting as one of his generals, will try and muddle through a conversation without arguing.

Ezran scrubs at his eyes and can't quite fight back the tears. But for tonight, in the privacy of the dark, he can be a little boy who's tired of losing.

He's so tired of losing.

#chessmaster ezran #tdp ezran #tdp broyals #broyals #let ezran be messy #ficlet #my fic #headcanons #fic #s7 speculation #lmao #game motif #tdp #the dragon prince #ezran #tdp aaravos #post season six #i suppose #losing = the game but also general loss & loss of steady ground and self </3

[biceratops7]

HOly fucking SHIT-

Guys I just had a complete Shellstrop style “holy motherforking shirt balls” moment at work about Donnie’s unusual speaking patterns. You know, when he does this:

This tendency to narrate his actions in the third person or verbally say onomatopoeias in place of the sound is uh… well it’s autistic right? Look it features in literally every compilation but no one knows why other than “vibes, sometimes it just be like that 🤷”

But NO. No it NOT be like that. I finally know what this fucking nerd is doing, hear me out…

… he’s scripting.

Think about it. You know what else describes action, emotion, and sound in purely words? Books. He has these little speaking quirks, yah, but if you actually zoom out and see the whole picture, Donnie talks like he’s a narrator. This makes a SHIT ton of sense considering we already have textual evidence that he engages in scripting behavior (more specifically some possible echolalia. See: saying “New York! What a Town!” in any situation something kind of abnormal happens after he hears Splinter say it with the exact same infections and everything.)

And we also know from the mystic library that Donnie actively seeks out and enjoys reading. So it stands to reason an autistic 14 year old who likes to be left alone to work on complex machines a decent amount and takes pride in his intellect would model the way he communicates off of written media as opposed to tv or his brothers. He could fill his social tool box with lines from Jupiter Jones and Lou Jitsu movies, but he may think it would give him less of a chance to properly express his capabilities.

Books are also the only form of media that can literally just tell you flat out what a character’s expression or emotion is supposed to be without it being awkward, which would be really appealing for Donnie. What solidifies this for me is the fact that at least once he verbally says “sad face emoji”, which could not have come from a novel or textbook. But we often do flagrantly use emoticons as tone indicators, and Donnie is constantly on his phone.

I think he’s definitely aware that this is not a regular way of communicating, but he’s clearly also self aware of his issues in getting his emotional meaning across and receiving input back. So it stands to reason he would accommodate this in a way that, yes, makes him sound odd, but is at least effective.

Now for my final little “I’ve connected the dots. I’ve connected them” moment, I headcannon that Donnie learned to read before he fully got the hang of speech. Aside from… literally everything I just said, he uses sign language to tell the squirrels to blow up his treehouse in that one episode. But he does the sign for “make” a bit incorrectly (there should be a slight twist in his upper fist), which leads me to believe he was probably taught baby sign out of necessity rather than being fully proficient in asl. This is fairly common for autistic children with speech delays.

#oh look Elliot’s being autistic about autism again #this has been sitting in my drafts for eons #bicera #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise donatello #autistic donnie #meta #analysis #scripting #echolalia #biceratops

[blxrrii]

SICK DAY

S. Itoshi x Reader

Fluff - 3.6K words- No Warnings That time Itoshi Sae got sick, and you took it upon yourself to take care of him.

The sound of his repeating alarm woke Itoshi Sae from his slumber, his hand reaching in a desperate attempt to shut the sound up because, holy shit, was it loud.

A headache shot through his head, resulting in him sucking in a breath. His whole body burned with pain, not the pain and numbness he felt the morning after a really intense practice session; no, he felt fatigued, as if he was bound in the same position. 

It took Sae a good minute or two to gather that he was in his bed next to you, who had somehow always slept through his alarm. 

His burning eyes soften at the site of your peaceful, sleeping figure. Your hair was dishevelled, strands falling in front of your face that Sae refused to move away because he loved your ditziness.

A soft sigh escaped past his lips, his eyes closing as he swore it would only be a minute, and then he would get up to start his day.

Itoshi Sae wasn’t someone who delayed his tasks.

No matter how tedious, overworked, or pained he was, Sae strived to better himself, pushing forward in any way he could. So why was today so different? Why did dread fill him at the mere thought of doing anything?

Disregarding his feelings, Sae gets up from the comfort of his bed, only to quickly grab at the bedpost when his eyesight starts darkening, the sense of falling face down on the floor overcoming him.

A hushed groan vibrated within him, moving his spare hand to rub his temples. He hated this weird, foreign feeling. It felt like his whole body was weighing him down, as if there were hundreds of weights chained to him.

Despite the terrible feeling that spread through his body, Sae continued on to get his day started, stumbling to the bathroom in his tired and sick state.

After Sae finished getting ready, which took him much longer than usual, he grabbed his bag that contained all that he’d need for soccer practice and started to make his way out the door. He didn’t eat breakfast, as he felt nauseous and usually grabbed food from outside most days. 

The midfielder was just about to open the door, his hand twisting at the knob. However, he was quick to stop his actions at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sae?”

His head spun back quickly, an action he almost immediately regretted when his head pounded at the quick movement. Sae hissed as a result of the pain. Standing next to the staircase was you, eyes still tired from having just woken up.

“What are you doing up?” He asked. You, however, disregarded his question, getting closer to inspect him.

“You look like shit.” Your voice was laced with worry, matching your facial expression. Sae rolled his eyes, looking away from you as you reached a hand towards his face.

“Gee, thanks.” In any other case, you probably would have replied to his sarcastic comment with a snarky one. Though with his more than usual tired look and his deepened voice that sounded like he was on the verge of tears, you decided there were more important matters at the moment.

“I think you’re sick, Sae.” He scoffed lightly, clutching the strap of his bag. In the years he has been alive, the likelihood of getting sick was nearly nonexistent. So, it was damn near difficult to believe that he was now. 

“I’m fine, just tired.” He mumbled, his speech slowed more than it was usually. 

“Sae, you can’t go to practice like this. You’ll catch an even higher fever!” Itoshi found warmth in your concern. (But he’d refuse to ever admit that to you.) Despite this, he kept persisting in leaving. 

“It’ll be ok-” He paused abruptly, turning his head away from you and sneezing into his arm. He was definitely not making a case for himself in your eyes. 

“Yeah, I bet you will.” A distasteful look made its way onto his face at your sarcastic remark, to which you snickered. Sae shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes closing for what felt like just a second to try and stay in the moment forever. 

“…Sae!”

He reopened his eyes, narrowing his eyes at you as if to question why you yelled out his name when he was right in front of you. 

“Hm?” 

“I’ve been saying your name for a good minute-” you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, “did you fall asleep… standing?”

The midfielder wished he could respond back to you, say something to assure you he was fine. Though he couldn’t. His throat burned, a scratchy feeling overcoming it every time he talked. Instead, he decided on a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a whimper, closing his eyes once more to restore the tranquillity he had felt just a minute ago.

And maybe staying home wasn’t the worst thing for him. He was tired out of his mind, his mind yearning to be put to rest, for his brain felt heavier with every sentence he spoke. So what was just a single break? It wasn’t like you were about to let him leave; why not take advantage of his situation?

You sighed once more, grabbing his arm to drag him back up the stairs. You were glad he hadn’t fought the idea of staying home from practice too much, though it wasn’t like you didn’t have a backup plan in case he was more persistent. Sae was too sick to realize you stole his keys from his pocket when he wasn’t looking and couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

You both get to the top of the staircase, the practice taking a slightly longer time than usual because you were dragging Sae behind you. Once the both of you made it to your shared room, he stripped off his bag and jacket, throwing both onto the floor because, at that moment, he couldn’t give a shit about either of his belongings. All he yearned for at that given time was being asleep beside you. 

Sae stumbled into bed, practically passing out the moment his head hit the pillow. You sighed, grabbing the duvet covers and placing them on his sleeping figure before getting into bed alongside him.

~

The sun in your eyes wasn’t such a great feeling. 

Having to be forcefully woken up because your eyes are being hit by something so bright it pains you.

You were in a similar predicament at the moment. However, you were stripped of the luxury of turning yourself away from the source of the sunlight so that your back was against the window to shield yourself from the sun. No, instead, Sae’s arms wrapped around your waist, head rested into your neck, his breathing tickling you ever so slightly. The way he positioned himself made it hard for you to move without waking him up.

You huffed softly through your nostrils, contemplating closing your eyes and returning to your slumber. The idea didn’t seem half bad to you; however, you had school, and if you didn’t get up to get ready soon, you would definitely be late. 

You managed to wiggle yourself out of Sae’s grasp, freezing every time he made a sound or switched positions. Ultimately, you managed to escape the bedroom without waking him, leading you to quickly grab an outfit and dart into the bathroom to prepare yourself for the rest of the day.

It turned out that you had lots of time to spare, resulting in you sitting on the kitchen island wondering what to do with the leftover time. You didn’t want to wake Sae because, even if he couldn’t see it, he was terribly sick. 

You weren’t blind to Sae’s poor eating habits. Because he couldn’t cook, he usually subjected himself to buying takeout if he couldn’t have a cooked meal with you. And, if he wasn’t going to order fast food, it was because he had forgotten about eating altogether. 

This led you to take the role of making sure he ate properly. You were pretty good at the task. However, it was hard for you to make sure he ate breakfast, as he woke up at a far too early hour of the day that you were not prepared to wake up at.

You put your phone down on the counter, stretching once before coming to the decision that you’d make your boyfriend breakfast. You wouldn’t be able to see him for most of the day due to your classes, and this would be the most caring thing you’d be able to do for him now.

It didn’t take you too long to make your first perfect batch of pancakes. After plating them and putting the dishes you used into the dishwasher, you tip-toed your way up the stairs and into your bedroom. You nudged the slightly closed door open with your hip, hands currently occupied with the food you cooked for Sae. He was still peacefully sleeping, soft snores leaving his mouth because his nose was clogged.

The corner of your lips twitched upwards at the sight of him, your brain poking at you to run a hand through his ashy red hair. You ended up giving in to the urge, setting the plate and cup of water on the bedside table as quietly as possible. Your hand first went to his forehead, nearly wincing from how hot it was. There was no doubt in your mind he was sick.

Your mind wandered off as you kept playing with Sae’s soft hair, not noticing how his tired eyes started to open slowly.

If there was a heaven, Itoshi Sae was experiencing it right now. 

Thanks to his career path, there weren’t many days that he woke up after you. However, today was different. Today, he had gotten to experience the feeling of hands raking through his hair, the scent of what he presumed to be breakfast filling his nose delicately. And, if that wasn’t enough, from the moment he opened his eyes, long lashes fluttering away from each other to reveal his beautiful blue eyes, he was able to capture the sight of you looking down at him.

This had to be heaven.

The euphoric feeling only lasted a minute, the symptoms of his cold hitting him like a truck soon after. He grumbled in annoyance at the pain that was shooting through his body, bringing the covers closer to his body to preserve some body heat.

You chuckled at his actions, sitting down on the side of the bed so you could talk to him. 

“How are you feeling, princess?” Sae furrowed his eyebrows at your sarcasm, sneering at you, which only made your laughter more prominent. His mannerism reminded you of a child who refused to go to school in the morning.

 “What time is it?” He asked in a dazed voice.

“Uh… 10:30.” You said, looking at the large bolded numbers at the top of your screen. “Shoot, I have to get going for school.”

You scooted your body closer to his face, pressing a kiss on his forehead before standing up to leave. 

“I’ll be back soon. Call me if you need anything-” Your words were interrupted by the redhead, who grabbed your forearm and forced you to sit back down on the mattress. You narrow your eyes at him from the sudden gesture, waiting for him to properly sit up before starting any banter.

“Sae, I really have to go. I’m going to be late.” He opened his mouth to say something but was quickly interrupted by a sneeze.

“Can’t you just skip?” The remark made you roll your eyes. Of course, Sae would suggest something like that.

“No, I can’t just-” You wanted to continue your sentence; tell him no because you couldn’t afford to skip another day. But when he was looking at you with slightly glossy eyes brows, an expression on his face that was practically begging you to stay with him, how could you possibly say no?

“Please?” He knew saying no to him wasn’t something that came easy to you, and he was using it to his advantage. You grumbled quietly, loud enough for him to hear but not articulate enough to understand what you were saying. 

Sae picked up his phone from his bedside table, shuddering at the cool air that hit his arm. He raised his brow when scrolling through the mass amount of messages he received from his coach and teammates. His confused expression quickly changed; his lips pursed as he read the messages.

When he fell back asleep, Sae forgot to inform anyone that he wouldn’t be coming in for practice. And because everyone seemed to depend on him (or at least what he thought), they were having some sort of heart attack from him not showing up.

The football player quickly typed a short, dry response to his coach before turning his phone off and throwing it to the side. His attention was back on you, who had gotten off the bed again and was about to put on a pair of shoes.

“Wow, you made me cancel practice just for you to leave me alone? I’m hurt.” The snarkiness in his voice made you scoff.

“Well from your peachy attitude I can tell your fever isn’t too high. I’m sure you can take care of yourself for just a few hours.” Sae puffed out his reddened cheeks, crossing his arms across his chest. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his mannerism.

“My love, do you want me to do everything for you? Would you like me to undress you and shower you myself?” 

The two of you both knew that you were clearly joking. It was apparent in the tone of your voice. However, seeing as Sae’s lips curled upwards into a sinister smile, you widen your eyes in disbelief. You swiftly walked towards him and flick his forehead to rid him of his weird, perverted thoughts.

He grunted from the slight pain he felt from getting his forehead flicked, narrowing his eyes at you as you smiled delightfully at his discomfort.

“I hope you die.”

“Awe, I love you too!”

~

It was stupid how quickly Sae got you to skip school. 

You were so persistent in leaving, allowing him to rest on his own without you distracting him. However, now that you had his head on your lap, you couldn’t imagine ever leaving him in the first place.

The two of you sat in the living room, the TV blaring noise from a show none of you were actually watching, instead letting it act as background noise. You scrolled through your phone with one hand, the other raking through Sae’s ashy hair. He, at some point, was also on his phone, though he was now sleeping comfortably with your favorite blanket.

Despite what you said earlier, Sae’s fever had started to rise, which caused you to worry more. You were used to common fevers, though he was beginning to exceed what could be considered the common cold.

The thought of calling the doctor wandered into your mind. You knew Sae wouldn’t be too fond of the idea and would try to convince you that he was perfectly fine. He would then later continue on to rant about how a doctor wouldn’t know what was best for him nor how he truly was feeling. (Well, at least that’s what he tried to convince himself from when he was a small child.)

 Despite this, you entertained your mind with the possibility of him having the flu. You definitely did not have the proper medication to treat the virus, and there was only so much that Ibuprofen could do.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the body in front of you shifting positions, moving from facing the television to facing upwards at the ceiling instead. You stared at Sae’s sleeping face for a good two minutes, contemplating once more the idea of making him an appointment. And, after letting out a soft sigh, you turned on his phone and went into his contacts to call his doctor’s office.

You only got so close to hitting the call button that you felt a hand grip your wrist firmly.

“Hey-”

A pair of bloodshot blue eyes stare up at you, a knowing look contained in them.

“What are you doing, mi amor?”

Fuck. Of course, Sae had to use Spanish pet names. He knew how quickly it made you fold, made you into a stuttering mess and forced you to tell the truth.

“I was just… calling your doctor.” The sheepishness in your voice warmed Sae’s heart, almost making him ignore what you said. 

Almost.

He quickly swipes the phone out of your hand, getting off your lap and scooting away from you and towards the other side of the couch. Your mouth was hanging slightly agape at his actions.

“You can’t be serious.” He folded his arms around his torso, knees bent towards his stoic and severe face. He was being dead serious.

“Sae you have a high fever, it wouldn’t be bad to at least check-”

“I’ll be fine. All some dipshit doctor is going to tell me is to rest and take some more days off. Days that I can’t afford to miss.” You roll your eyes at him. 

“Aren’t you the one who’s always going on about how annoying your coach is-” he took you off guard by throwing a pillow at your face, causing your posture to stumble a bit. You bit the inside of your cheek, a menacing look on your face. So that’s how he wanted to play?

“I’m going to beat you up right now if you don’t give me your phone.” You threatened as you fixed your posture, an arm reached out towards your boyfriend. He held it to his chest protectively, squinting at you as if he were daring you to try and grab the device out of his strong hands. 

“You’re acting like a child!” You complained, eye twitching at your boyfriend’s incompetence. You soon came to the realization that Sae was not going to reason with you and that you had to go for a second approach. 

Attack.

You quickly placed your phone on the coffee table to avoid damaging it. Sae noticed your new attitude and put his guard up. 

“You’re really going to fight a sick person? Wow.” You paid little to no mind to his speech as you rolled your sleeves up. 

“You forced me to, I never wanted to do this.” 

“Try me, loser.” 

You quickly jumped on top of him, a gasp escaping his lips the moment you’d done so.

“GIVE ME THE PHONE-”

He held the arm that held his phone as far away from you as possible, not having enough energy to do anything more than defend himself.

“Come reach it, shorty.” You knitted your eyebrows and smacked his arm hard.

“OW.” He hissed, instinctively putting his other arm down, using it to rub the one you hit. 

“You should be the last person talking about other people being short.” You grumbled, taking his temporarily stunned body as an opportunity to snatch his phone right out of his hand. Unfortunately for you, he was quick to react, tightening his hand around the phone. 

The back-and-forth fight lasted for five more minutes, ending quicker than usual due to Sae’s shortness of breath. In the end, his phone in your hand with him wheezing underneath you. You were also out of breath, head resting on top of his. On any other day, Sae would definitely have taken your vulnerable state to steal the phone back. However, he was on the verge of falling asleep again, exhaustion hitting him so hard that even the thought of lifting his hand filled him with dread.

“Aren’t you-” Sae went into a coughing fit, his lungs burning with each cough. “Aren’t you going to call my doctor?”

The sourness in his voice nearly humored you enough to laugh out loud; however, you, much like the boy you were straddling, were tired out of your mind. The idea of getting up, adequately dressing, and then driving all the way to the clinic made your body flood with dread.

“Shut up.” You mumbled, grabbing the blanket that was discarded just a couple inches away from the two of you. Sae’s lips curled upwards as you wrapped the blanket around both of your bodies. He decided, however, not to make a snarky or sarcastic remark on how you changed your mind, instead closing his eyes and letting sleep overcome him.

~

When Itoshi Sae woke up the following day, he was pleased to find that the sick feeling he had felt yesterday had vanished, thanks to your care. He still had slight coughing fits from time to time, but all in all, he had returned to his original state.

The football star didn’t waste time getting ready for his busy day, as he had double the work to do because he missed yesterday. 

He swiftly grabbed his bag off the floor of your shared bedroom, doing his best not to wake you up. He, however, was shown that his attempts were futile, the sound of you shifting in your bed alerting him. 

When hearing your movements die down, he started to walk out the bedroom door and into the hallway, twisting the knob so the door wouldn’t close too loudly.

Only then did he pause abruptly at the sound of two soft coughs from the other side of the wall. 

‘Shit.’

First time writing for blue lock ‼️ lmk how I did :))

#blue lock #bllk x y/n #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #sickfic #idk what to tag this as #i hate tags #oneshot #help

[ihopesocomic]

You've probably gotten a lot of messages like this before but I wanted to just thank you guys for showing a form of abuse that isn't only physical and still calling it abuse and not hand waving it away. So many stories that include abuse tend to assume that it only counts as abuse if it's physical. They ignore mental and emotional abuse entirely and if they do acknowledge it, it's portrayed as not that bad and something you need to forgive your abusers for.

As someone who's still coming to terms with my own experience with a similar kind of abuse that Adamant and Hope faced, your comic makes me feel seen and validated in my feelings and especially in my choice to cut off the family that hurt me. Seeing Adamant and Hope leave and not be shunned for it was such a relief and breath of fresh air after so much media tells you to forgive people who hurt you, especially if they are family.

again, thank you. I'm forever thankful this comic exists. you two are fantastic and I can't wait to see where the story goes :)

Thank you so so much, anon. We feel mixed emotions when we get asks like this because it's nice to hear but it's also so hard to hear our readers dealing with what we've dealt with and it's also hard to articulate how much we hear you and how sorry we are.

What you're saying is such a good point. Emotional abuse is so often discounted and watered down and even disregarded as being hurtful. It also doesn't help that even physical abuse gets the same treatment. Especially when it's just dismissed as 'discipline' or a 'loss of control'. But going back to emotional abuse, this is one of the main things that we wanted to so desperately try and portray vs. how My Pride had portrayed it. The very idea that emotional abuse at the hands of your family isn't actually abuse because it's just them loving you and 'wanting what's best for you'.

Which is so ridiculous because overprotectiveness can very, very easily mutate into smothering and parents feeling that their children have zero agency or identity outside of themselves, especially if you're disabled. Parents like this don't deserve humanisation or sympathy. Their actions are possessive and unhealthy and may be a indication they're suffering from a form of abuse themselves.

My Pride could have tackled this with Powerstrike. She lost her mate and son. Her culture is heavily against her and her own sense of agency. However, the script is too busy highlighting how she feels 'weak' because her daughter is disabled and can seemingly do nothing to fulfil this unachievable image she has of her.

It's how you know the script was written by an able-bodied individual, somebody who will never know that this kind of thing makes you feel like utter dirt as somebody who isn't a "perfect" neurotypical, able-bodied individual.

Even if the creator is neurodivergent herself, this was such a huge ball to drop. Powerstrike saying 'whenever I look at you, I only see what you could have been' is very much a fucking Powerstrike problem and she deserves to rot for it. Being viewed under the lens of what you "could" be if you didn't have a physical disability or conditions that cause developmental delays like autism is downright devastating for those who have them and fuck that show for trying to humanise Powerstrike by having her spout such garbage.

There was nothing remotely sympathetic about that speech. It was just Powerstrike whining about having a disabled daughter and the context of the speech is that she was called out for not caring about her children and the creator somehow thinks that her child being disabled.... excuses that?

I apologise for going off on a rant, but Powerstrike's speech fits the bill exactly with what what you're talking about because MP fans have fallen for it hook, line and sinker and refused to see how gross it is because Powerstrike never physically abused Nothing like Quickmane did. Even though it is very obviously emotional abuse and manipulation.

It'd be great if we could just assume this is just superfans defending their favourite show's honour because god forbid something they enjoy is delivering problematic messages like how parents who have an ableist perception of their children deserve sympathy, but we've had people come to us and directly point to the show's writing as a reason for them failing to identify valid forms of abuse and therefore feel they cannot act upon it or seek help for it.

May not be what the creator intended because she was presumably high off her own fumes when she wrote speeches like Powerstrike's, but that's the reality and making excuses for it like MP fans have isn't going to make the issue get any better.

Doing this comic has allowed me to confront the same feelings you have also had to contend with, anon, and I'm very happy we have been able to share something together there. You and others like you also make me feel less alone and less angry about what I've experienced and I hope you never forget that. - RJ

#ask #ask us stuff #rj answers #my pride mention #comic praise #tw abuse

[mformarsala]

ok long-ish post with my thoughts on how tbb might end

Kinda of a fixed point we have is that Hemlock's research should be successful to a certain degree and lay foundation for cloning Palpatine.

My understanding is that Omega's blood function as a medium, substrate that allows to clone force sensitives while maintaining M-count. So you need Omega's blood and someone force sensitive.

Therefore, either Omega stays at the Tantiss (and tbb all die) or she stays just long enough for them to get enough blood (and than gets rescued by tbb)

While tbb casually kills a lot of characters it does not feel in the tone of the series to go the first glum route (and it does not really fit into overall plot).

I think there will be another time skip where they get enough data of Omega before she is rescued and it will serve to explain why after s3 the empire is no longer after Omega or tbb.

Plus partial success would explain why remnants of the empire are after Grogu in the Mandalorian. Say tbb rescues the force sensitive children and Omega, than the empire has enough of Omega's blood but needs more force sensitive children for experiments. And Hemlock is demoted because of the fiasco and it creates the delay till the Mandalorian in the program.

In s1e2 Cut says "You wanna know how to dissapear? Put being a soldier behind you and make a new life for yourself." so it seems likely to me that the ending of tbb is going to be akin the ending of the Mandalorian and they'll settle as farmers somewhere out of the way.

Maybe with the force sensitive kids, maybe they'll offload them onto someone "who can train them".

Emerie is probably going to defect and stay with the kids.

I hope clones imprisoned on Tantiss will be rescued by tbb. Omega keeps bringing it up for a reason, right?

Comandos... Tbb does not seem to be too focused on forcefully removing chips/programming so they'll probably be reassigned to other projects (in assumption that Tantiss closes at the end of tbb) or disposed off screen.

As I'm writing this I'm realizing that i see tbb ending either with a small farm just for tbb and Omega or a big farm for tbb and all the kids accumulated on the way. My money on the small farm though.

There is a possibility I suppose that Omega IS force sensitive and she goes with the other fs kids and tbb goes to live somewhere else.. But like the only thing that suggests that ending is that one line from Ventress. And I think the whole obsession with Omega's blood works differently. It's not confirmed high M-count, it's confirmed high M-count replication.

With how little Echo was in this season it does seem likely that the rumors are true and there will be another animated series. The story of Emerie, comandos, and freed clones might continue there.

Big question of course is the identity of CX-2.

Narratively I think the only option that makes sense is Tech. Plus observations I have seen online regarding speech patterns and fighting moves do seem convincing. However, I do have some reservations here. CX-2 is almost.. too good to be Tech? Absolutely no shade to Tech but he was always part of a team and not a sole operative and focused on technical aspects and his weapon of choice were pistols rather than a rifle. Idk if time skip was enough to retrain him.

CX-2's distorted voice is different from CX's distorted voice. On one hand Tech's voice is different from reg's so it's a point for team Tech. On the other CX's voice sounds nothing like clone's and it was a bit of a reveal in s2 that the operative was a clone so maybe it's neither here nor there.

The second obvious option that comes to mind is Cody. Rampart knows about CX program; a clone that expresses doubts regarding empire is send to a secret reconditioning program and if anyone asks "he went AWOL". I mean it sounds plausible. Plus Cody is usually depicted wielding DC-15 either carbine or rifle so it's perhaps an easier switch to the CX's rifle. Though this season noone is mentioning Cody so it does seem far fetched. Unless face reveal is like the final frame of s3 and is used to pivot into the new series.

#star wars #sw #the bad batch #tbb #m says

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

me + sleep deprivation = "oh yes this trash can looks exactly like the save button" brb while i cry myself to sleep 😭 allure part three may be a few days late because i only have the paper draft of it now yippee 🥳 i still have to do the last read through of part two then it's good to go, i will do it after work i pinky promise 🫡

apologies for the delay, but thank you for all the love with this fic i'm genuinely so proud of it and i hope i didn't just piss too many people off. as an apology, another teaser to hold you over :

.....

When he grabs the curtain, your voice comes out rushed. "Please don't touch me."

"I won't." He speaks shortly, opening the fabric just enough to turn off the water. Immediately, with no sound to drown it out, he hears your irregular heartbeat. "I won't," he says with a voice soft with promise.

The silence drapes you both, listening closely to one another for any sign of movement or speech.

Your ears are perked up, eyes wide and wild as you watch his silhouette take a seat on the closed toilet. He seems to be watching you as well.

"You're in heat." He breaks the hush with a punch. It's not a question, more so it's an observation from his sharp senses.

"Yes." You whisper back.

"How long since you had your last one? That blocker was in there deep." His voice holds something like quiet empathy, which makes your wolf want to crawl to him even more. You try to calculate the years to give him a good estimate of how bad this will get, but your brain feels too hot in your head.

"Long," is all you can muster up.

The quiet blankets you again, the only sounds are that of the raging storm outside. A clap of thunder makes you jerk, wrapping your clawed hands around yourself for a sense of comfort.

His hand peeks through the gap in the curtain, holding your large towel. You take it with an almost silent thank you, wrapping it around your shoulders as you stay seated.

.......

#stars journal #fic update

[darklordofthesimp]

THIS WAS A SUBMISSION BY THE AMAZING AND TALENTED @komorebiiiiiiii and it leFT ME SOBBING SO THANKS GREMLIN CHILD FOR THE TEARS.

_____

this deleted the first time so let’s go

i’m doing it in my notes like u said ma

GRRRRRATATAATATAAAA

—

The bloodied handprints on white birch trees was the only nuance of Sunshines dying body, residing in the deeps of foliage, surrounded by the blues of Petunias and crimson of her spilt veins.

The mission had gone to utter shit, Graves betrayal stung. Chasing her out of safety and into the deeps of the forest.

A shadow had followed her without her realising, the fog of her tears impairing her vision.

She had stopped to breathe, resting for just a second before trekking forward, when the shadow had struck. Aiming their dagger for her neck, but she had felt it, sixth sense kicking in and stepping out of the way last second, twisting her body and putting a bullet in the fuckers skull before her could do more damage.

Las Almas was crawling with the things, Graves ordering a kill on sight for any member of 141.

The shadows body stopped limply, pushing both her and the corpse into a cluster of Petunias.

Hence where she was now. Kicking the body away from herself, attempting to push back up, to no avail. Arms giving out on her and falling to her wound. The gash in her side spewing a deep burgundy nto the delicate blue petals.

It almost felt poetic, the pretty flora glistening with blood and the dew of an old rain.

She sat against a fallen tree trunk behind her, panicked fingers scouring her pockets for her small first aid kit. Finding it tucked into one of her self sown patches, she places it to her side.

Pulling the emergency tabs on her vest, she sheds it like a second skin. Pulling of her shirt, it sticking sickeningly to her open wound.

Sunshine knew she should have called for help. Told anyone how the wound was getting no better. Her hands kept slipping and the tears kept coming. She stuffed her shirt into her mouth. Gathering her suture kit, the needle shook in her grasp. Blood coating a thick glove over her fingers.

She cried out into the fabric, tears streaming fast when she pulled the first stitch taught.

Gagging and sobbing, her heart working overtime to make up for the lost blood. She was getting weaker, she wouldn’t be able to stay awake for much longer.

The blood not flowing steady pools at her feet, was rushing past her ears. The ringing of tinnitus grew louder.

The winds screamed around her. Flora crying through the shake of leaves. Stars blinking in worrisome. The moon stared at her, ever watching. Waiting to see if anybody would come for her, if anyone was watching Sunshine like she was.

“Sunshine, how copy?”

Sunshine’s ministrations paused, she couldn’t take the fabric out of her mouth, or she would bite through her tongue.

His voice felt like a dying light. A promise of her survival that was really only leading her to a faster death.

“Sunshine, How copy.” She kept at it, stitch after messy stitch. Crying and coughing into her make-shift gag.

“Sunshine, answer god damn it!” He sounded frantic now. Gunshots heard on the receiving end of her comms.

Sunshine tightened the last stitch, breathing heavy through her nose, sniffling and almost suffocating herself.

Tying the last stitch in place, she pulled the ball of shirt out of her mouth, taking in gasping breathes and sobbing openly into the night sky.

The Moon flickered in and out of her vision, pitying the sight of her.

“Fuck, answer me!”

“I’m alive! I’m fucking,” She sobbed again, fuck she was going to die here. “‘I’m alive.”

Sunshine sounded weak. The sounds around her muffled as her adrenaline seeped out of her.

“Where are you.” Ghost sounded livid, livid but scared.

“I’m.. somewhere pretty?” She gave.

“He needs a location to get ta’ ya, lass.” Soap butted in.

“The.. woods?” Her speech slowed, delayed and hesitant. Almost confused with what she was saying.

She looked to the sky, her blood mixed with the body next to her, swimming around the pretty flowers.

She looked gorgeous here, moonlight hitting perfectly onto her face, the clearing she resided in surrounded her, isolating from the world outside.

There was a whistle of noise further down the hill, a tune she recognised faintly.

She whistled back, talking to the trees around her.

The whistles grew louder, and more frequent. She was losing breath. Her response getting shorter with each second.

The distinct sound of rustling gained her attention, a tall figure appearing through the thick bush of the forest. “Sunshine.”

“Ghost?”

“Sunshine.” He rushed towards her, taking in the gruesome sight of her near bear abdomen. The cut was deep, likely that of a dagger. The stitches were messy and terribly done. Barely doing what they’re supposed to by keeping the wound closed. But doing nothing for her comfort.

The flowers around her covered in her blood, shining in the pale moonlight.

He quickly grabbed the t-shirt discarded next to her, applying apt pressure to her wound. She groaned in pain.

“You really know how to treat a woman.”

He huffed, glad her humour hasn’t died. He clicked his comms.

“Found ‘er Soap.”

“How is she?”

She looked up at him expectantly. He averted his eyes.

“Not good.” He said lowly.

“I’ll try and get in contact with Price, call for evac to send out yer way.”

“Get ‘ere quick.”

“So you do like me?”

“I like you alive.”

Sunshine coughed a laugh, soft smile on her features.

A click was heard through the comms, signalling the disconnection from Soap, to call Price.

She feels like she’s dying. The stars showering him in a soft light.

He looks like he would be the man you meet in death. Greeting him in a friendly hello.

Her conscience was slipping from her. Ghost speaking sharp words. “Stay awake, soldier. That’s a fucking order.”

“I’m so tired L.T.”

“I know, sunshine. Stay awake for me.”

Her eyes fluttered, keeping them open was proving to be more and more difficult.

“Eyes on me, that’s it. Good.”

Sunshine’s eyes trained on him. The skull of his mask speckled with blood. Eyes a stunning depth to them. He looked pretty like this.

“You’re a real stunner, yknow that L.T?”

“Ah, all the more reason to keep your eyes open then, huh?”

“Mm, I like looking at you.”

“Jesus christ,” He breathed the phrase, dipping his head a little lower towards her. “,Don’t go saying stuff like this on me now. Wait until you’re all fixed up, aye?”

She smiled up at him dopey.

Her smile suddenly faded. She can’t be flirtin’ like this, he’s a taken man.

“You’re fucking stupid for hidin’ this from me, Sunny.” He scolded her softly, he was angry but she was so so weak in front of him.

“Didn’t wan’ seem weak.”

She glanced down at her wound, still covered by his scarred hands and rough fabric. “Fixed myself up dandy. Knew I din’ need help.”

“You did need help.”

He sighed, brows furrowing.

“You need to let me help you.”

A sudden pang of pain shoots up her side and she coughs, body tensing. The tears slowly starting again. She felt pathetic.

“I don’t wann’ die, Simon.”

“I want someone to go home to.”

“I wanna go home.” She whines the word, sobs it even. She hiccuping again and with every movement it causes pain. Spilling more tears. It’s an endless, ugly cycle. He was watching her spiral until her body would eventually give out.

“Sunshine.” His voice was firm, a stability in her shaking mind.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

She counted her breaths, lining them up with his. He waited patiently for her to calm down.

A silence settles over them. The soft assurances she’s alive, and her responses equally as soft.

“What do you think about Birdy?”

He stuttered, cringing at the question.

“What about her?”

“Do you think she’s someone worth coming home to?,”

She paused, soft eyes lifting up to him.

“You think she’s someone you’d come home to?”

She’s not jealous, understanding more so. The heart wants what it wants. Not his fault if he wants Birdy. And who was she to deny him? He hated her. Worse then anyone ever had. She would do nothing to stop it if he ever perused Birdy. Because she wanted someone who understands him. Who knows him like Birdy does to love him. She’s not that.

It was a harmless question, but it struck him nauseous. It was a sore spot for him, but anything to keep your slipping conscious put.

“No. She’s not mine to come home too.”

“Oh.”

“And even if she was, I don’t think I would want that. I don’t think she’s my endgame.”

He’s looking at her like she’s something to pray to. The light to everything bad about himself. Like being even near you betters him as a man.

“Why?” Soft, doe like.

Evac arrives, Fussing over your injury and whisking you away before he can respond. Two medics wheeling you off, while two more check your vitals.

He sighs, shuddering while he drags a hand across his mask.

“Because she’s not you.”

#submission #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #sunshine au

[schraubd]

Leaving the Mess for Later

One thing that's come up in a few of the Supreme Court's recent blockbuster decisions is the shakiness of the fact pattern in the underlying case. Mr. Kennedy in Kennedy v. Bremerton School District wasn't really just an average citizen whose desire to privately pray on his own was stymied by the evil liberal school district. Ms. Smith of 303 Creative v. Elenis might have outright falsified documents suggesting that a gay couple asked to engage her services. The Supreme Court's conservative majority did not care, blitzing ahead in decisions that made dramatic alterations to major areas of constitutional law doctrine.

At one level, I actually understand the perspective here. When it comes to abstract, "philosophical" question regarding the scope of the Establishment Clause or whether anti-discrimination law must sometimes yield to free speech commitments, the details of the individual case don't really matter. If it wasn't Kennedy, it'd be someone else. If what you care about is the broad, sweeping change -- interring Lemon v. Kurtzman for good, or laying a marker that public accommodations laws must yield to businesses right to "expressively" discriminate -- the details don't affect the underlying arguments all that much. The same claims and counterclaims that would be made in any case would be aired here. 303 Creative probably already felt like the can that was kicked down the road from Masterpiece Cakeshop. Similar impatience was seen in some of the concurrences in Fulton v. City of Philadelphia -- we know we're going to have to decide whether to revisit Employment Division of Oregon v. Smith, and we know the arguments for and against preserving the precedent, so why delay the inevitable? Just make the decision one way or the other and get it done.

At another level, though, this speaks to how the current conservative judicial cadre really doesn't care about the formalities of law and legal doctrine. It's movement conservatism through and through -- the important thing is the bottom-line results, and the Court will shoot first and let others clean up the mess later. This especially stood out for me in 303 Creative, a case where it was striking how much more legalistic Justice Sotomayor's dissent was compared to Justice Gorsuch's majority opinion. The former, whether one agrees with the result or not, worked through the relevant First Amendment doctrine via the same methodology I'd teach my students -- explaining the relevant doctrinal framework, explaining why this case falls into a particular part of the framework, and explaining the implications thereof. The majority opinion was basically an abstract ode to the importance of free expression but skipped past significant swaths of the seemingly essential legal analysis (often by vague gestures at party "stipulations" or just treating as gospel certain holdings of the Tenth Circuit). It was hard to escape the sense that the nitty-gritty details of Lorie Smith's case were not at all what interested the majority, and so they were disinclined to spend significant time on them. They wanted to make a big statement about the interplay of free speech and anti-discrimination law, so that's where they devoted their attention. 

From that vantage, the fact that Lorie Smith's case may not have been the cleanest vehicle isn't really all that important. Of course, from the vantage of lower courts trying to figure out what the hell 303 Creative actually means, it's extremely important, because nobody actually knows the concrete rule that 303 Creative is actually establishing, and the blurry fact pattern means that trying to infer it from Lorie Smith's situation is a doomed initiative. But again, that's someone else's mess to deal with. I honestly believe that the Justices in the 303 Creative majority did not care if Lorie Smith, personally, deserves the exemption from anti-discrimination law under the doctrine that will eventually lay out. What they cared about is being decisive in defending the existing of these exemptions in concept. Lorie Smith just had the good fortune to be the next case in line that could be plucked onto the docket.

I've written before of the Machiavellian character of the current Supreme Court, specifically, it's absorption of Machiavelli's advice to tyrants: that they should take their big oppressive swings early, in full force, and all at once. You won't gain any advantage from dragging things out, and you'll probably get credit if you cut back later. And the repeated pattern we've seen is of the Court taking these huge right-wing swings that delight conservatives on the level of ideology, but without much care for how they can be operationalized as a workable legal doctrine, and leaving it lower courts to clean up its mess. And to give an inch of silver lining, there is the chance (this follows from Machiavelli too) that as that "mess" resolves itself the Court will then quietly file down some of the roughest edges. The Bruen decision, which reads as a right-wing ideological fantasy document but which has unleashed utter chaos in lower courts, may be an example if the Court uses the Rahimi case to cut back the most extreme interpretations. Take the big swing, make the chest-out assertion of insisting that no amount of public necessity can weigh against robo-originalism, and then later on at their discretion maybe pick and choose a few morsels to dial back on and claw back some legitimacy.

But nonetheless, it really is striking the degree to which the conservative legal movement just no longer cares that much about the law. As a law professor, it makes for depressing teaching. As a citizen, it makes for depressing living. Just depression all around.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/03PY6Qg

#constitution #discrimination #gun control #law #supreme court

[pardi-real]

Tarot of Destiny / Chapter 5 - Living Liberation

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~ The next day ~

Morning of December 31st. Lying in the soft bed, I was half-asleep when I sensed someone moving near the bed.

Gradually, I opened my eyes.

> “Muu, are you there?”

Muu: “Ah! Good morning, my lord. I was preparing for your departure to the city. I'm sorry... Did I wake you up?”

> “It's okay, thank you”

Muu: “Fufu... Today, the butlers and I are making arrangements for a stroll around the city. Since it's the festival... Let's enjoy it to the fullest!”

 > “That's right”

Muu: “Yes! Everyone was really looking forward to it! Okay then... I need to make sure to convey this properly.”

> “Convey what?”

Muu: “Ah, yes… That's right. My lord. Do you remember what Lady Elvira mentioned in the carriage yesterday? In order to save you... we need to reflect on ourselves through the cards sent to each of us.”

> “Conveying your thoughts... right?”

Muu: “Exactly! I’ll do it if it can save you from the ominous fate... Actually, yesterday... Together with all the butlers, we discussed... We decided that each one of us, including me, would convey our thoughts to you.  So, it might take the whole day... but could we have your time starting from now?”

> “Of course” > “Thank you for doing that for my sake”

Muu: “Thank you very much! Well then, without delay... First, my thoughts… please listen.”

> “Sure”

Muu: “Um... The tarot card I received was... ‘The Fool’ in the ‘upright position.’ According to Mr. Fennesz… It means ‘a new beginning’ or ‘a state of innocence'.

I thought this card suited me very well. Two years ago… I fell from the sky in a state of amnesia in front of you...  To me, everything here was fresh, just like the meaning of the card...

It felt like an ‘adventure’, a fun time. The reason for all of that was… meeting you.

Thank you so much for making me your butler. These past years have been really enjoyable. Of course, there were dangers and difficult times… but I'm truly happy, to be able to spend time as your butler.”

> “Muu…”

Muu: “Ehehe... It sounds like a farewell speech, but of course it's not that... It means ‘let's continue to work together!’ Please let me stay by your side forever, my lord!”

> “Yes, let's be together”

Muu: “Ehehe... Well then, first let's head to the garden together.  The first-floor butlers have prepared breakfast there for us!”

> “In the inn's garden?”

After getting ready, Muu guided me... and we went out to the inn's garden. Just as Muu said, the first-floor butlers had set up breakfast on the table.

[Inn, Garden]

> “Good morning, everyone”

Bastien: “Good morning, my lord. Since the weather was good and the cold had eased a bit… We arranged for breakfast in the inn's garden.”

Berrien: “If you feel chilly, there are thick blankets… and also warm tea. Please enjoy the freshly prepared breakfast with the splendid view.”

Lono: “Then, my lord! Please take this seat. Today's breakfast is... Baked beans and hash browns, with poached eggs. Also, freshly baked scones for you to enjoy. And for dessert… There's homemade pie.”

> “Is this…”

Lono: “Ah… Does it remind you of something?”

> “Isn't this the first breakfast Lono made for me?”

Lono: "Yeah, that's right!  Two years ago, when you came to the mansion... The first dish I served was this. It feels nostalgic, doesn't it? At that time, you were..."

Bastien: "Hey, Lono. The food's getting cold."

Lono: "Ah, right. Let's save the nostalgic talk for later. Before the food gets cold, please enjoy it!"

The meal prepared by Lono… tasted even more delicious than the first time I had it. Perhaps Lono's culinary skills had improved, or maybe it was the nostalgic memories that made it feel that way...  I felt a sense of happiness… more than when I first tasted it...

~ A while later ~

Lono: "My lord, would you like seconds for dessert?"

Berrien: "If you'd like, there's also more tea available..."

> "I'm already full" > “Thank you, but I'm good”

Berrien: "Fufu. Seeing my lord satisfied makes us happy too.  Well then... Lono. We shall take our leave for now."

Lono: "Sure thing. Thank you."

Bastien: "My lord, we'll step out for a while. Muu, come with us."

Muu: "Huh? Oh, right... Then, my Lord! Excuse us for a moment!"

> "U-um..."

With those words, the other three besides Lono collectively left the area.

Lono: "Hehe... Sorry for making it feel a bit weird. Um... Have you heard about it from Muu?"

> "The 'expressing feelings' thing?"

Lono: "That's right! I thought it would be better to put the feelings that came up inside me into words... But it's a bit embarrassing when heard by others. So, we decided to leave when someone's talking. 

S-so, uh... 

Here's the tarot card I received. ‘The Chariot' in 'reversed' position... In short, it feels like I'm 'out of control'...  Heheh. I thought it was a perfectly fitting card for me. I tend to get more excited than others... 

Sometimes, I get too absorbed, like when I got overly engrossed in researching recipes recently and ended up a little under the weather.  Well, those are my bad points."

> "I see..."

Lono: "Ah, but... It's not all bad, you know? While looking at this card... I suddenly thought, 'Getting too excited can mean being totally absorbed in something.' And I felt it's something to be blissful of. 

Since meeting you... my desire to improve my cooking skills increased even more. How can I make tastier dishes for you? That kind of enthusiasm is what meeting you gave me. 

That's why... I'm okay with going a bit overboard if it's for that! Thanks to you, cooking and life... They've become much more enjoyable than before!  Heheh. Thank you for coming to the mansion, my lord!"

> “Likewise, thank you too” > "You're welcome"

Lono: "Ishishi... It feels quite refreshing to convey my feelings! If I think it's thanks to the tarot… then tarot isn't always bad, huh?"

> "Thank you, Lono"

Trudge… trudge… trudge…

Bastien: "Hm... Looks like it's over."

Lono: "Ah, Bastien. It's your turn next.  Did you think about it? You'll speak well, right?"

Bastien: "I don't know. But I'll manage somehow. Anyway, you're heading that way."

Lono: "Heheh. Alright, alright. Well then, do your best, Bastien."

Saying that, Lono left the place, exchanging places with Bastien.

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#aknk #Tarot of destiny