#<- it is the one i see most commonly spread. i take responsibility for any deficiencies.

[iphigeniacomplex]

লিখি লোৱা, মই এজন মিঞা ("Write Down 'I am a Miyah'", 2016) by Hafiz Ahmed, translated from Assamese to English by Shalim M. Hussain, began a movement of resistance poetry among Assamese Muslims of Bengali descent, referred to as Miya Poetry after a slur used to describe this community. From Abdul Kalam Azad, for Indian Express ("Write...I am a Miya", 2019):

This poem went viral and other young poets started responding to him through poems. The young poets also started reclaiming “Miya”, a slur used against us, as our identity with pride. This chain of Facebook posts continued for days, reiterating the violence, suffering and humiliation expressed by our community. As time passed, more poets wrote in various languages and dialects, including many Miya dialects. The nomenclature ‘Miya Poetry’ got generated organically but the poets and their associates have been inspired by the Negritude and Black Arts movements, and queer, feminist and Dalit literary movements, where the oppressed have reclaimed the identity which was used to dehumanise them. The trend transcended our community. Poets from the mainstream Assamese community also wrote several poems in solidarity with the Miya poets while some regretted not being poets. Gradually, this became a full-fledged poetry movement and got recognised by other poets, critics and commentators. The quality and soul of these poems are so universal that they started finding prominence on reputed platforms. For the first time in the history of our community, we had started telling our own stories and reclaiming the Miya identity to fight against our harassers who were dehumanising us with the same word. They accused us of portraying the whole Assamese society as xenophobic. The fact is we have just analysed our conditions. Forget generalising the Assamese society as ‘xenophobic’, no Miya poet has ever used the term ‘xenophobic’ nor any of its variants. The guilt complex of our accusers is so profound that they don’t have the patience to examine why we wrote the poems.

Amrita Singh, writing for The Caravan ("Assam Against Itself", 2019), detailed the political backlash against Miya Poetry, in particular the above poem.

On 10 July this year, Pranabjit Doloi, an Assam-based journalist, filed a complaint at Guwahati’s Panbazar police station accusing ten people of indulging in criminal activities “to defame the Assamese people as Xenophobic in the world.” Doloi claimed that the ten people were trying to hinder the ongoing updation of the National Register of Citizens, a list of Assam’s Indian citizens that is due to be published on 31 August. The premise of Doloi’s complaint was a widely-circulated poem called, “Write down I am Miya,” by Hafiz Ahmed, a school teacher and social activist. “Write. Write down I am a Miya/ A citizen of democratic secular republic without any rights,” Ahmed wrote. The police registered a first information report against Doloi’s complaint, booking all ten persons for promoting enmity between groups, among other offences. [...] At the press conference, Mander emphasised that people in Assam are in distress because of the NRC’s arbitrary and rigid procedures. “One spelling mistake when you are writing a Bengali name in English … that is enough for you to be in a detention center, declared a foreigner,” Mander said. “If you are not allowing this lament to come out in the form of poetry, then where is this republic of India going?”

Ahmed's poem is influenced in structure by "Identity Card", a 1964 poem by by Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish which uses the symbolic figure of the Palestinian working man to confront Israeli occupiers. Darwish's identity card, a symbol of Israeli subjugation transformed into a cry of Palestinian national identity, is reshaped by Ahmed into the National Register of Citizens for Assam and the accompanying fear of statelessness and disenfranchisement for the Miya people.

This solidarity between writers from oppressed groups is, of course, not one that ends with Darwish and Ahmed, nor with the Black, queer, feminist, and Dalit influences of Miya Poetry. As long as there is oppression, there will be companionship and recognition reflected in art and activism. On December 13, 2023, Black Agenda Report reprinted Refaat Alareer's "If I Must Die", acknowledging the connection between Alareer's poem and "If We Must Die" by Claude McKay, written in 1919 in response to the Red Summer white supremacist riots. In 2000, Haitian community activist Dahoud Andre translated "If We Must Die" into Kreyòl, and the Black Agenda Report editorial honors Alareer in a similar way, reprinting "If I Must Die" with an accompanying Kreyòl translation. (POEM: If I Must Die, Refaat Alareer, 2023.)

Transcripts under the cut.

[Hafiz Ahmed Transcripts (Assamese and English):

লিখি লোৱা, মই এজন মিঞা

লিখা, লিখি লোৱা মই এজন মিঞা এন. আৰ. চিৰ ক্রমিক নং ২০০৫৪৩ দুজন সন্তানৰ বাপেক মই, অহাবাৰ গ্ৰীষ্মত জন্ম ল’ব আৰু এজনে তাকো তুমি ঘিণ কৰিবা নেকি যিদৰে ঘিণ কৰা মোক?

লিখি লোৱা, মই এজন মিঞা পতিত ভূমি, পিতনিক মই ৰূপান্তৰিত কৰিছোঁ শস্য-শ্যামলা সেউজী পথাৰলৈ তোমাক খুৱাবলৈ মই ইটা কঢ়িয়াইছোঁ তোমাৰ অট্টালিকা সাজিবলৈ, তোমাৰ গাড়ী চলাইছোঁ তোমাক ��ৰাম দিবলৈ, তোমাৰ নৰ্দমা ছাফা কৰিছোঁ তোমাক নিৰোগী কৰি ৰাখিবলৈ, তোমাৰে সেৱাতে মগন মই অনবৰত তাৰ পিছতো কিয় তুমি খৰ্গহস্ত? লিখা, লিখি লোৱা মই এজন মিঞা গণতান্ত্ৰিক, গণৰাজ্য এখনৰ নাগৰিক এজন যাৰ কোনো অধিকাৰ নাইকিয়া মাতৃক মোৰ সজোৱা হৈছে সন্দেহযুক্ত ভোটাৰ যদিও পিতৃ-মাতৃ তাইৰ নিঃসন্দেহে ভাৰতীয়

ইচ্ছা কৰিলেই তুমি মোক হত্যা কৰিব পাৰা, জ্বলাই দিব পৰা মোৰ খেৰৰ পঁজা, খেদি দিব পাৰা মোক মোৰেই গাঁৱৰ পৰা, কাঢ়ি নিব পাৰা মোৰ সেউজী পথাৰ মোৰ বুকুৰ ওপৰেৰে চলাব পাৰা তোমাৰ বুলড্‌জাৰ তোমাৰ বুলেটে বুকুখন মোৰ কৰিব পাৰে থকাসৰকা (তোমাৰ এই কাৰ্যৰ বাবে তুমি কোনো স্তিও নোপোৱা) যুগ-যুগান্তৰ তোমাৰ অত্যাচাৰ সহ্য কৰি ব্ৰহ্মপুত্ৰৰ চৰত বাস কৰা মই এজন মিঞা মোৰ দেহা হৈ পৰিছে নিগ্ৰো কলা মোৰ চকুযুৰি অঙঠাৰ দৰে ৰঙা সাৱধান! মোৰ দুচকুত জমা হৈ আছে যুগ যুগান্তৰৰ বঞ্চনাৰ বাৰুদ আঁতৰি যোৱা, নতুবা অচিৰেই পৰিণত হ’বা মূল্যহীন ছাইত!

Write Down ‘I am a Miyah’ Hafiz Ahmed, 2016 trans. Shalim M. Hussain

Write Write Down I am a Miya My serial number in the NRC is 200543 I have two children Another is coming Next summer. Will you hate him As you hate me?

write I am a Miya I turn waste, marshy lands To green paddy fields To feed you. I carry bricks To build your buildings Drive your car For your comfort Clean your drain To keep you healthy. I have always been In your service And yet you are dissatisfied! Write down I am a Miya, A citizen of a democratic, secular, Republic Without any rights My mother a D voter, Though her parents are Indian.

If you wish kill me, drive me from my village, Snatch my green fields hire bulldozers To roll over me. Your bullets Can shatter my breast for no crime.

Write I am a Miya Of the Brahamaputra Your torture Has burnt my body black Reddened my eyes with fire. Beware! I have nothing but anger in stock. Keep away! Or Turn to Ashes.

]

[Mahmoud Darwish Transcripts (Arabic and English):

سجِّل أنا عربي ورقمُ بطاقتي خمسونَ ألفْ وأطفالي ثمانيةٌ وتاسعهُم.. سيأتي بعدَ صيفْ! فهلْ تغضبْ؟ سجِّلْ أنا عربي وأعملُ مع رفاقِ الكدحِ في محجرْ وأطفالي ثمانيةٌ أسلُّ لهمْ رغيفَ الخبزِ، والأثوابَ والدفترْ من الصخرِ ولا أتوسَّلُ الصدقاتِ من بابِكْ ولا أصغرْ أمامَ بلاطِ أعتابكْ فهل تغضب؟ سجل أنا عربي أنا اسم بلا لقبِ صَبورٌ في بلادٍ كلُّ ما فيها يعيشُ بفَوْرةِ الغضبِ جذوري قبلَ ميلادِ الزمانِ رستْ وقبلَ تفتّحِ الحقبِ وقبلَ السّروِ والزيتونِ .. وقبلَ ترعرعِ العشبِ أبي.. من أسرةِ المحراثِ لا من سادةٍ نُجُبِ وجدّي كانَ فلاحاً بلا حسبٍ.. ولا نسبِ! يُعَلّمني شموخَ الشمسِ قبلَ قراءةِ الكتبِ وبيتي’ كوخُ ناطورٍ منَ الأعوادِ والقصبِ فهل تُرضيكَ منزلتي؟ أنا اسم بلا لقبِ! سجلْ أنا عربي ولونُ الشعرِ.. فحميٌّ ولونُ العينِ.. بنيٌّ وميزاتي: على رأسي عقالٌ فوقَ كوفيّه وكفّي صلبةٌ كالصخرِ... تخمشُ من يلامسَها وعنواني: أنا من قريةٍ عزلاءَ منسيّهْ شوارعُها بلا أسماء وكلُّ رجالها في الحقلِ والمحجرْ فهل تغضبْ؟ سجِّل! أنا عربي سلبتُ كرومَ أجدادي وأرضاً كنتُ أفلحُها أنا وجميعُ أولادي ولم تتركْ لنا.. ولكلِّ أحفادي سوى هذي الصخورِ... فهل ستأخذُها حكومتكمْ.. كما قيلا!؟ إذنْ سجِّل.. برأسِ الصفحةِ الأولى أنا لا أكرهُ الناسَ ولا أسطو على أحدٍ ولكنّي.. إذا ما جعتُ آكلُ لحمَ مغتصبي حذارِ.. حذارِ.. من جوعي ومن غضبي!!

Identity Card Mahmoud Darwish, 1964 trans. Denys Johnson-Davies

Put it on record. I am an Arab

And the number of my card is fifty thousand I have eight children And the ninth is due after summer. What's there to be angry about?

Put it on record. I am an Arab

Working with comrades of toil in a quarry. I have eight children For them I wrest the loaf of bread, The clothes and exercise books From the rocks And beg for no alms at your door, Lower not myself at your doorstep. What's there to be angry about?

Put it on record. I am an Arab.

I am a name without a title, Patient in a country where everything Lives in a whirlpool of anger. My roots Took hold before the birth of time Before the burgeoning of the ages, Before cypress and olive trees, Before the proliferation of weeds.

My father is from the family of the plough Not from highborn nobles.

And my grandfather was a peasant Without line or genealogy.

My house is a watchman's hut Made of sticks and reeds.

Does my status satisfy you? I am a name without a surname.

Put it on record. I am an Arab.

Color of hair: jet black. Color of eyes: brown. My distinguishing features: On my head the `iqal cords over a keffiyeh Scratching him who touches it.

My address: I'm from a village, remote, forgotten, Its streets without name And all its men in the fields and quarry. What's there to be angry about?

Put it on record. I am an Arab.

You stole my forefathers' vineyards And land I used to till, I and all my children, And you left us and all my grandchildren Nothing but these rocks. Will your government be taking them too As is being said?

So! Put it on record at the top of page one: I don't hate people, I trespass on no one's property.

And yet, if I were to become hungry I shall eat the flesh of my usurper. Beware, beware of my hunger And of my anger!

]

[flansterthefilm]

Wokeness

One of the most mind altering cringe things I've seen my entire life is a grown men, maybe in his thirties, losing his shit over the option to select your pronouns in Starfield. He yelled at the screen, he turned the game off, you could see the fires of rage in his eyes burn with the fury of a thousand suns. And one of the most captivating things that I saw said in response to this was that what he was facing mentally had to be some sort of cognitive illness. Holy shit, you're right.

I think that now more than ever there's a strong pushback against the inclusion of any type of marginalized group in media unless they submit to extremely tight standards: Women are fine as long as they're beautiful, black people are okay as long as they aren't too present and don't overshadow the white main character, and the LGBT community are tolerable permitted they aren't at all present. When media doesn't submit to this they face review bombing, unsuccessful boycotts, and even real world threats.

Most commonly we see that these aforementioned qualities not being stuck to birth Twitter rants made by people who paid $8 for a blue checkmark to appear next to their name. They'll write as much as the character limit permits about how whatever studio is responsible for the downfall of the West because some movie had a gay kiss scene or a video game let you play as a deaf black girl.

What you'll see as a pattern in a lot of cases of apparent "wokeness" is that the issue isn't so much what a character says or does but rather a character's inclusion in the first place. In a game like Horizon Forbidden West the main character, Aloy's, sexuality was met with harsh waves of criticism. She wasn't straight and that was an issue. The game didn't make a statement about gay validity vs straight validity, Aloy was just bi or lesbian, end of story. And in Marvel's Spider-Man 2 we have Hailey, a deaf black character who has an OPTIONAL side mission where things were as down to Earth as possible in a game like Spider-Man. She didn't save the day in the end, she didn't use her powers of being black and deaf to overpower the Spider-Men, she just existed. Both of these instances were met with controversy from former FASD babies who accidentally tricked themselves into thinking their opinion was worth hearing.

This criticism, however, goes beyond just dipshits on Twitter. A lot of the time we see major news outlets like Fox News take any given instance of non white, non straight, non male inclusion and turn it into a news story. Most common when Mr. Carlson was on the air, stories about the Little Mermaid being black or the Green M&M no longer being boner fuel because Mars doesn't want people to make their own salty M&Ms before they get their recipe right flooded the air. Tucker doing this unleashed the concept of wokeness unto his millions of fans, and from there conflation began.

Tucker's framing of wokeness made it seem as if any inclusion that didn't fit his ideal standards was inherently bad and worth fighting against. And his ideal standards often made it seem like marginalized groups aren't welcome when compared to straight white men when it comes to their involvement in media. Both are true. And when you have a man like him, the former most watched news personality in America, not only make it seem like the devilish concept of wokeness was just the inclusion of minorities but also validate those who already thought that way, disaster will and did strike.

(I don't believe Tucker is solely to blame however it stands to reason that he certainly didn't help the spread.)

So now we have the mere act of including and in some cases simply acknowledging these minority groups being framed as woke, and woke=bad if you haven't sumised by now.

This rather easily paves the way for any and all representation of marginalized people to be labeled as woke, and when it's labeled as such a pushback from a larger group of people is easy. Those who begin the pushback are simply angry that someone who doesn't look like them are in media they want to enjoy, that's what they see as woke. By using the word "woke" they enlist the help of the uninformed, those who think that the issue is the presence being forced or pandering, that is their version of woke. What they don't know is what they're rallying behind isn't a simple expression of proper inclusion, it's the erasure of inclusion.

From there and with repeated pushbacks the uninformed begin to conflate any inclusion with wokeness. They get mad that a gay person was on Sesame Street or The Simpsons is pro BLM. They think they're at war with pandering. This is not true, they've been radicalized.

Large, public, and vocal outcry leads to executives listening. If they believe that having a black main character is going to drop profits whereas a white one wouldn't, guess which path they'll take. And this will continue with two outcomes for each instance: the minority is replaced with future media or the minority stays and further radicalization happens.

With those who fall into the bigoted category of warriors against the "woke mob" in congress and various positions of power, fighting against what boils down to minorities being present in anything, with them being radicalized just as the uninformed had been or being radical to begin with, I hate to see what's on the horizon for my friends and I.

[mariebenz]

Trained Scent Dogs Can Quickly and Accurately Detect Covid-19

MedicalResearch.com Interview with: Prof. Tommy Dickey Ph.D. Distinguished Professor Emeritus Geography Department University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA

MedicalResearch.com: What is the background for this study? Response:  I became interested in dog's sense of smell several years ago while doing therapy dog demonstrations at the California Science Center in Los Angeles during a special traveling exhibit "Dogs! A Science Tail." (Now at the Orlando Science Center).  I did a lot of research on this topic and taught children about it through the Los Angeles Public Library using my Great Pyrenees therapy dogs. Then, COVID broke out and I expanded my research into any work being done to possibly utilize scent dogs for screening and testing for COVID.  I found only a few such studies.  However, I fortuitously met Heather Junqueira of BioScent, Inc. (in Florida) online and she was beginning to successfully teach her beagles to detect COVID-related odors.  She agreed to co-author a peer-reviewed review paper with me.  That led to our first paper - Dickey, T, Junqueira, H. Toward the use of medical scent dogs for COVID-19 screening. J Osteopath Med 2021;1(2): 141-148. https://doi.org/10.1515/jom-2020-0222 When the COVID pandemic began to wane at the beginning of this year, I felt that it would be the perfect time to do this comprehensive follow-up review to see how far COVID scent dog research had progressed. To our amazement, research efforts had increased by almost tenfold and involved over 400 scientists using over 31,000 samples (including sniffings) from over 30 countries and that 29 peer reviewed papers had been published. Heather’s inspiration for doing scent dog work came when her father contracted cancer and she wanted to find better diagnostics.  She has since been successful in detecting non-small cell lung cancer with her trained beagles as well as COVID. MedicalResearch.com: Would you tell us a little about the type and/or breeding of the dogs? Response:  In the peer-reviewed studies, the number of different breeds and mixed breeds was 19.   Typical training periods dedicated to COVID scent detection were a few weeks. Labrador Retrievers and Belgian Malinois were most commonly used (nearly 100 times). These breeds were chosen because they have been used extensively in scent detection work for several purposes.  Other breeds, such as Heather’s beagles, have been used quite successfully as well. No obvious preference based on performance has been noted by breed, age, gender, age or even previous training for scent work. Interestingly, most of the dogs were not specifically bred to do COVID detection.  In fact, previously untrained dogs have the advantage that they are not as prone to indicating on scents other than the COVID-19 associated scent. Heather is one of the few scientists who actually breeds her dogs to be single purpose scent dogs (i.e., for COVID or other diseases). MedicalResearch.com: What are the main findings? 1)    Our review has shown that it safe to utilize scent dogs to directly screen and test individuals who may be infected with the COVID-19. 2)    The accuracy of the trained scent dog method is comparable to or in some cases superior to the real-time reverse transcription polymerase chain reaction (RT-PCR) test and the antigen (RAG) test. 3)    Trained scent dogs can be effectively used to provide quick (seconds to minutes), non-intrusive, and accurate results in public settings and thus reduce the spread of COVID. MedicalResearch.com: What should readers take away from your report? - Medical scent dogs deserve their place as a serious diagnostic methodology that could be particularly useful during pandemics, potentially as part of rapid health screenings in public spaces. We are confident that scent dogs will be useful in detecting a wide variety of diseases in the future. - We feel that the impressive international COVID scent dog research described in our paper, perhaps for the first time, demonstrates that medical scent dogs are ready for mainstream medical applications.  MedicalResearch.com: What recommendations do you have for future research as a results of this study? 1)    More studies utilizing more dogs would be beneficial 2)    More work in developing target samples is needed 3)    More research is needed in different public settings. MedicalResearch.com: Is there anything else you would like to add? Any disclosures? - More trained dogs will be needed for wide-spread, large-scale scent dog screening and testing.   The training and field use of scent dogs may benefit from the recruitment of dog owners who are already involved in recreational scent work under the auspices of the American Kennel Club and other organizations worldwide. - Is the use of scent dogs cost effective?  Much of the research in this review was in fact motivated by the need for rapid, inexpensive, and lower technological testing in developing nations.  More research into the economics is needed. - Perhaps the greatest challenge to the use of medical scent dogs is the implementation of wide-spread, large-scale programs, which will require funding and development of infrastructure that is responsible for certification, protocol standards, and deployments. This may be more of a challenge in the U.S. for a variety of bureaucratic reasons. Other nations face a variety of obstacles, but the large number of scent dogs already used in practical applications (seen in our paper’s References and Tables) suggests that their governments are quite supportive of the common use of medical scent dogs and may not place as many governmental barriers. Citation: Dickey, Tommy and Junqueira, Heather. "COVID-19 scent dog research highlights and synthesis during the pandemic of December 2019−April 2023" Journal of Osteopathic Medicine, 2023. https://doi.org/10.1515/jom-2023-0104 The information on MedicalResearch.com is provided for educational purposes only, and is in no way intended to diagnose, cure, or treat any medical or other condition. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health and ask your doctor any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. In addition to all other limitations and disclaimers in this agreement, service provider and its third party providers disclaim any liability or loss in connection with the content provided on this website.     Read the full article

[sirithesillies]

Because DID and OSDD systems are inheretly trauma disorders. you cannot identify as a system, it is a trauma-based disorder that happens when your brain FRACTURES under EXTREME pressure. the original makers of the endogenic term were traumagenic systems in denial of their trauma. any genuine systems who claim to be endogenic most likely are repressing traumatic memories, which is NORMAL and COMMON. THAT is why there is wiggle room in official diagnoses. but claiming to be a fully-formed system without trauma is like claiming to have PTSD without trauma. it is a trauma response, and you can NOT DEVELOP IT without trauma.

the positive outlook on their plurality is commonly caused by them SELECTIVELY CHOOSING TO SHOW SYMPTOMS. also, there is the fact that TRAUMAGENIC SYSTEMS CAN BE HAPPY AND FUNCTIONAL TOO. people cosplaying a psychiatric disorder are obviously going to report higher rates of having a perfect, functioning relationship with that disorder because they ARE NOT EXPERIENCING THE NEGATIVE SIDE EFFECTS. because they DO NOT HAVE IT.

tulpamancy is a CLOSED, TIBETAN BUDDIST PRACTICE THAT IS NOT A CDD. in fact, if you look in the diagnostic requirements for DID and OSDD, you'll see very clearly this:

This clearly not only disproves your second point, but also, if one is practicing a RELIGIOUS PRACTICE, there is CLEARLY a better cause for it rather than OSDD and DID. which endogenics CLING onto as causes. i have never once met an endogenic that wholeheartedly thought they were a tulpamancer as it is as a religious practice. simply, most endogenics genuinely cannot practice tulpamancy.

I claim to be anti-endogenic because even if they ARE expiriencing plurality, it is so inherently different than DID and OSDD. they, as directly claiming to have these disorders, spread harmful misinformation to HUNDREDS of people. scrolling the reblogs of this original post alone, i see countless being swayed by these arguments. but there is a KEY DIFFERENCE HERE.

being a DID / OSDD system is NOT a fucking choice. it ISN'T. no matter how hard you want people in your head (which, frankly, you dont, because it's fucking miserable), you cannot just identify as it. it is NOTHING akin to being ace in the queer community, it is NOTHING akin to being nonbinary in the trans community, it is NOTHING like making an educated self-diagnoses when you cannot get a professional one. it just isn't. it's more akin to barging into PTSD spaces, either because you're misidentifying symptoms of some other anxiety / depressive disorder, and harassing and bullying victims of trauma, all while spreading LIES about PTSD. the ideas that endogenics have introduced as a whole (see: syshopping (not as a RAMCOA term but as used in the endogenic community), selectively choosing to be a system, systemhood as a fun, non-debilitating thing, the continued blatant stereotypes of "evil alters" and such that so many endos claim to have in their system, "make-an-alter" blogs, i could go ON) have done IRREPARABLE DAMAGE.

endogenics have further traumatized and GASLIT true, traumagenic systems into HORRIFIC situations, and have made it SIGNIFICANTLY HARDER to get GENUINELY diagnosed if you yourself go to a medical professional claiming to know you have DID or OSDD. because of people like endogenics, medical professionals are taking people claiming to have DID/OSDD far less seriously. people who are SERIOUSLY making EDUCATED guesses are being judged and denied the care they NEED because of people who just want to play around and have fun.

even if endogenics truly are systems, they are so inherently different than traumagenics. they have NOT made their own spaces. they have NOT carved their own space. they have STOLEN genuine terms from traumatised individuals to have more fun in their made-up fantasy, and those among them that ARE true DID / OSDD systems are being spoonfed LIES and HARMFUL misinformation left and right. In this edit, I'd also like to say that endogenics are STEALING terms and spaces. Tulpamancy, syshopping, etc. are all STOLEN terms. Tulpamancy I've gone over before, but Syshopping was a genuine, valid (to my knowledge) term used by victims of RAMCOA. Endogenics then misinterpreted the term, didn't understand the circumstances needed for it to be valid, and then rebranded it so horribly to the thing it is today.

i will be unsupportive of endogenic "systems" until the day i die. i hate getting involved in syscourse, but i NEEEED to state my piece on this at least once in-depth in the course of my blog. with my platform i will NOT allow people to spread things that they don't know fucking SHIT about. they DONT know about tulpamancy. they DONT know about what life with a dissociative disorder is like. they DON'T know SHIT about what they are saying. for as long as i have this blog, i will ALWAYS tell people the same thing. having a disorder is not "fun" or "quirky" or "silly". diagnosing yourself with a disorder when you do not meet the criteria for it at ALL (or haven't done your bare minimum research) is inherently harmful. endogenics are either of the belief the trauma they experienced "wasn't enough", or are singlets with factitious disorders. i genuinely hope anyone who claims to be endogenic gets the help and support they need for whatever other disorders they might have, but it is NOT a complex dissociative disorder.

"endos make a mockery of REAL systems" "ace people make a mockery of REAL queer people" "nonbinary people make a mockery of REAL trans people" "self-diagnosed people make a mockery of REAL disabled people" "bisexuals make a mockery of REAL gay people" "non-dysphoric trans people make a mockery of REAL trans people" "trans lesbians make a mockery of REAL lesbians"

arent you tired? arent you tired? arent you tired?

[stylus-22]

Is there a Difference between American English and British English | elearning content development

elearning content development

Previously, the world was highly influenced by British English, as England was the superpower. Speaking English was considered to be a posh affair. As a result, English quickly came to be known as a major language in most parts of the world. In India too, the emergence and spread of colonization led to the acceptance of English as a prominent language in India. America on the other hand, ended up speaking English as the early settlers who migrated to the new land were largely British. They took the language with them to the new land and made numerous changes in the language, further creating a new variation of English popularly known as American English.

The popularity of courseware design in USA has increased and it is crucial to create the best quality content. Let us not deny that while designing courseware the correct usage of the required English is essential and it is very common to see individuals get confused between the two. It is not about one being better than the other, both the versions are popular, however, the major concern here is the quality. One has to make sure that there are no inconsistencies while designing courseware, if American English is needed then the entire courseware should follow the same. The courseware cannot contain parts of British English. The same rule should be followed vice versa. To tackle this issue, e learning development companies in USA like Stylus Solutions can provide assistance while avoiding any irregularities in the language to be used.

Here are some examples that might provide a glance over the vast dissimilarities between British English and American English:

Use of VocabularyThe major and highly noticeable difference between American English and British English is the vocabulary. There are many words that are prominent in everyday usage and have completely different meanings in both British as well as American English. For instance, Americans ‘use an elevator’ while the British ‘take the lift.’ French fries are referred to as ‘chips’ in England and Americans call it ‘fries’. The British ‘wear trousers’ but ‘Americans’ wear pants. ‘Vacation’ in American English is termed as ‘holiday’ in British English.

Use of SpellingsAmerican English have converted British spellings to generate differences. The use of spellings is another source to spot numerous differences. American English focuses more on how the word looks rather than changing sounds unlike, British English. The British spelling of colour is color in American English. Similarly, words like honour, labour, and favour are spelled as honor, labor, and favor in American English. American English removes the letter ‘u’ to spell the word as it sounds. The ending of verb forms of some words are also changed around in American English. In British English the word organise ends with ‘ise’ while in American English the same word ends with ‘ize’, Other examples of such words are analyse and realise which are written as analyze and realize.

Use of collective nounsCollective nouns are generally used to address a group. In American English collective nouns are always singular unlike British English where collective nouns are used both in singular and plural forms depending on the usage. One such example is, Americans will say, “The band is performing exceptionally today” but in British English one can say “The Band is performing exceptionally today,” or “The band are performing exceptionally today”.

Use of Past tenseBritish English commonly uses past perfect tense, for instance, “I have just given him some chocolates”. Contrary to British English, American English uses simple past along with ‘just’, for example “I just gave him some chocolates.”

Use of PrepositionsPrepositions are also used differently in BRITISH and American English. The British say “They will travel in a train“, while Americans say “They will travel on a train”. When addressing time or a specific day, British English uses the preposition ‘at’, for instance, ��She’ll be home at Christmas” The same sentence is framed as “She’ll be home on Christmas” in American English

Use of Question tagsQuestion tags are questions that originate from an existing sentence. The tag follows the statement with the auxiliary verb in the sentence, changing its meaning from positive to negative, for example, ‘The night is chilly, isn’t it?’ or ‘You don’t want the last slice of pizza, do you?’ Including question tags while speaking is very common in British English, it is one kind of validation that the British use. It is not entirely wrong to use question tags in American English, but it is less common and is not commonly used in everyday conversations.

TimeAmerican and British English have differences in the way time structure is vocalized. In American English, time is specified as “quarter after eight” for 8:15. In British English, time is indicated as “quarter past eight”. Variation also exists in the manner of writing time. The Americans always use a decimal point or period while writing time digitally, it is written as 8.00, however, the British use a colon, they write 8:00. In courseware designing, it is essential to address such minor variations.

DateWhile addressing dates too, British and American English follow dissimilar ways. The British say, “John’s wedding anniversary is the 10 of October,” whereas the Americans say “John’s wedding anniversary is on October 10th.” Even when date is written, the format varies, the Americans write “March 16, 2012” and the British write, “16 March 2012”, the comma is not added in the British version.

These are the crucial factors in deciding how much the usage of British English or American English matters. Differences are numerous, but both the variants are correct if consistency is maintained and there is nothing wrong in using either of the versions. The problem arises when both the variants are mixed together, especially in courseware development. The courseware will be considered incorrect. To avoid such instances, contact one of the highly skilled e learning development companies in United State such as Stylus Solutions, to design a consistent, informative and engaging courseware.

[grey-sorcery]

These lists are by no means authoritative or complete. I am a practitioner of only one closed culture and therefore cannot rightfully speak for them all.

Just because a culture is closed or semi-closed does not mean its bad to research them. DO THE RESEARCH. Talk to practitioners of these traditions and cultures. Outside of Mexica traditions, I am not their voice. This post is to act as a guide. A good place to start. And I am 100% open to new information. Think of this post as a collaborative effort.

I have yet to see a more comprehensive list on the internet. So many practices exist that it would be impossible to include them all by name or even know about them all. If there is a practice that you know about, please reblog and share! 

Semi-Closed Cultures

These are cultures & practices that require a cultural context that can only be achieved through studiousness and direct interactions with the community. However, these cultures are open to anyone who wishes to join them. They may or may not require an initiation process and other requirements before someone is accepted. Some are based on regionality. The sects mentioned in this list are just one part of the pie. Whatever sects that aren't semi-closed are closed. It is nearly impossible to list all of the sects of these religious and spiritual practices.

Islam (Most sects)

Christianity

Judaism (Most sects)

Hinduism (Most sects)

Buddhism (Most sects)

Zoroastrianism

Sikhism 

Confucianism 

Yoga

"Shamanism" (A few sects)

Kabbalah (Rigorous initiation)

Native American Cultures (A couple tribes)

Ozark & Appalachian folk traditions

Slavic folk practices

Closed Cultures

These are cultures that heavily guard their spiritual and/or mystical practices. Some do perform initiation, however they will not accept just anyone. Some of these are deep rooted ethnic practices and require the same ethnic background in order to be initiated. Due to the closed nature of these magical practices, it is next to impossible to find any reliable information on the internet. Which means using these practices outside of their cultural context will be: ineffective, disrespectful, and misinformed.

Hinduism (Some sects)

Islam (Some sects)

Judaism (Some sects)

Buddhism (Some sects)

"Shamanism" (Most practices)

Navajo

Zuni

Lakota

Ho-Chunk

Mapuche

Cherokee

Chilote

Anishinaabe

Pawnee

Most other Native American cultures

Taoist mysticism

Korean folk practices 

Chinese folk practices (Almost all sects)

African Traditions (Nearly all sects)

Root Work (Commonly referred to has Hoodoo)

Rootwork

Santeria

Espiritismo

Kele

Obeah

Winti

Myal

Abakua

Kumina

Yoruba traditions

Mexica traditions (Commonly referred to as Aztec)

Toltec traditions

Maya traditions

Indiginous Australian practices

Maori practices 

Tagalog practices

Tengriism

Druidism 

Romani practices

Shinto practices

Manchu practices

Mongolian practices

Satsana Phi

Ban Phi

Vietnamese practices

Sami practices

Mari practices

Open Cultures

These are typically considered dead cultures, which means that there are very few surviving cultural centers to gain cultural context. Most of the practices are obtained through archeology and should be considered incomplete. However, taking part in these practices is not considered disrespectful if it is practiced responsibly. 

Hermeticism

Hellenism

Kemeticism (And other ancient Egyptian practices)

Norse practices (General Heathenry)

Etruscan practices

Sumerian practices 

Practices to avoid

These practices are appropriative, rooted in racism/misogyny, cult-like, and/or directly lead into fascism. They should be avoided at all costs. Many of these practices are wide-spread. Several claim to have ancient origin, when they do not. Most of them have taken practices from other cultures and obscured them and claimed them as their own. Some of these practices are literal pyramid schemes.

Wicca

Claims ancient origin, appropriative, misogynistic, consumerism

Neo-Wiccan practices

Same as Wicca, but also tends to be transphobic and racist, consumerism

Ceremonial Magick

Appropriative, rooted in racism & misogyny.

Thelema

Appropriative, rooted in racism & misogyny, cult-like

New Age practices (Like Reiki)

Appropriative, Alt-right (fascist) pipeline, cult-like, pyramid scheme, consumerism

Neo-Shamanism (Nearly all sects)

Appropriative, claims ancient origin

Neo-Nordic practices

Fascist, Appropriative, claims ancient purity

Neo-Druidry

Appropriative, claims ancient origin

Eco-Pagan practices

Appropriative, claims ancient origin, transphobic, consumerism

Hermetic Qabalah

Appropriative, rooted in racism & misogyny

Evangelical practices

Cult-like, fascist, xenophobic, claims ancient origin

Germanic Neopaganism

Fascist pipeline, Appropriative, claims ancient purity

Theosophical practices

Rooted in colonialism, appropriative, claims ancient origin, rooted in white supremacy, misinformative.

If you'd like to know more about me and my blog, ask a question, suggest content, see a list of my posted/planned informational content, or commission a sigil, click here.

UPDATED LISTS

[citrusraindrops]

Male abusers often call themselves victims; The spread of the myth of (equally prevalent) female abusers directly harms female victims, because it means their partners' lies are believed by police and other authorities. And the myth of anti-male bias in courts stymies female victims as they try to escape their abusers.

I'm going to recommend once again Why Does he do That? by Lundy Bancroft. In chapter two, Bancroft writes:

Even if abused men didn't want to come forward, they would have been discovered by now. Neighbors don’t turn a deaf ear to abuse the way they might have ten or twenty years ago. Now, when people hear screaming, objects smashing against walls, loud slaps landing on skin, they call the police. Among my physically abusive clients, nearly one-third have been arrested as a result of a call to the police that came from someone other than the abused woman. If there were millions of cowed, trembling men out there, the police would be finding them. Abusive men commonly like to play the role of victim, and most men who claim to be “battered men” are actually the perpetrators of violence, not the victims.

From chapter 12:

A remarkable number of judges grant restraining orders to abusers to use against their victims or grant mutual orders, which validate the abuser’s claim that his partner shares responsibility for causing his scary behavior ... I have also worked with many [probation officers] who buddy up to the abuser with a wink and a nod, who bond with him in the belief that there exists an anti-male bias in the court system and who signal him that he needn’t take the abuser program seriously by saying things such as: “Just show up to your required number of group meetings and we’ll get you right off probation.”

From Chapter 3:

The abuser’s highly entitled perceptual system causes him to mentally reverse aggression and self-defense. When Tanya attempted to defend herself against Emile’s life-threatening attack, he defined her actions as violence toward him. When he then injured her further, he claimed he was defending himself against her abuse. The lens of entitlement the abuser holds over his eye stands everything on its head.

One of my areas of specialization is court-related work involving abusers who are physically violent or who abuse their children. I frequently encounter court personnel who say: “Well, she accuses him of abusing her, but he denies it.” They then drop the matter, as if the man’s denial closes the case. They also tell me: “He says she does the same things to him, so I guess they abuse each other.” This kind of denial and cross-accusation tells us nothing about whether the woman is telling the truth. If the man is abusive, of course he is going to deny it, partly to protect himself and partly because his perceptions are distorted. If he were ready to accept responsibility for his actions in relationships, he wouldn’t be abusive. Breaking through denial and minimization is one of the main tasks facing an abuse counselor. Most of the men in my groups admit to some abusive behavior —although they don’t see it as abusive, of course— but they acknowledge only a small portion of what they have actually done, as I learn when I interview the abused partners.

Abusive men push and push against a woman's boundaries in a relationship, breaking her down, and when she tries to defend herself against abuse or speaks out in any way he uses it as evidence that she is irrational and that she is the abuser. We unfortunately saw this happen to Gabby Petito and Amber Heard. In both cases when the victim was pushed past her limits and showed emotion at being abused, it was used as evidence that they were abusive.

Domestic violence is more common in lesbian relationships than it is in heterosexual relationships.

the point is that in heterosexual relationships men and women are equally likely to initiate DV. When examining female only relationships they are more likely to suffer violence than male only relationships.

Researchers theorise women initiate violence more often because society tends to ignore female violence and punish male violence harshly. They see no downside. This effect is magnified in female only relationships.

This info is not intended to put anyone down.

To add to this, heterosexual DV is still going to be more common than lesbian DV based purely upon the number of heterosexual couples when compared to lesbian couples. This isn’t to put down lesbians, it’s a statistic that I’m not too sure if it’s still liable or not.

So, apparently I need a frequently asked questions page ... or something.

You are wrong anon; these statements are factually incorrect.

Domestic violence is NOT more common in lesbian relationships. (And the larger post for context.)

Men and women do NOT have similar rates of domestic violence. (See, also, this post.)

People support/fail to support male/female victims and condemn/fail to condemn male/female perpetrators at similar rates. (Also see this post and this post.)

There is also no evidence of a criminal sentencing disparity caused by sex.

"This info is not intended to put anyone down." -> Yes, I am sure you came to this blog where I discuss the pandemic of male violence against women to claim that, against all substantial, overwhelming, evidence to the contrary women are actually more violent than men to be ... friendly.

Male violence in heterosexual relationships is higher in both absolute and relative terms (see above).

"it’s a statistic that I’m not too sure if it’s still liable or not" -> I'm guessing you meant either "reliable" or "viable", in either case, it was never reliable, or viable, or true. It's a homophobic, misogynistic myth perpetuated by malice and poor understanding of statistics.

[my-darling-boy]

Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

[echo-of-sounds]

daddy dom

Headcanons on the types of Daddy Dom Aizawa, Gang Orca, and Hound Dog are. 

I was going to include all six guys in this but it got so much longer than I initially planned. Toshi, Hizashi, and Fatgum are coming tomorrow!

Warnings: Daddy Dom relationship, (the rest is only mentioned, there’s no real detail) punishments, choking, slapping, spanking, spitting, hair pulling, and rough sex

Aizawa Shouta

Shouta had an inkling he was interested in dominance when he started having sex. The Daddy Dom surfaced after a one-night stand happened to moan ‘Daddy.’ He enjoyed it, looked into the subject deeper, and realized that’s exactly what he wanted, needed. However, he hasn’t had a relationship where he’s felt comfortable enough or been in one long enough to practice it. 

As your relationship develops, it is something he brings up because he isn’t shy about it. He wants to be your Daddy. He wants to be his girl’s protector and her anchor. He praises you when you’re doing well. He says how proud he is. He loves and cuddles you on your bad days. When you’re crying and scared, he’s right beside you, huddling you to his chest, protecting you from whatever you fear. 

Pet names are a rarity. On the odd occasion a good girl slips out, it’s a telltale sign he’s in a highly dominant mood. You’re expected to listen, do what you’re told, and say, ‘please and thank you.’ To make you feel fluttery and happy, he’ll call himself Daddy as he’s helping you.

Kitten is even more limited. He uses it when you dress up in the pink lingerie he bought you. It has a little collar with a bell, a cat-eared headband, garter bands, and cute, frilly panties and bra. There’s also a cat tail butt plug you can play with. But there’s a catch- there’s depreciation. If you use it too much, he isn’t as excited and it’s clear to see. You need to keep the lingerie away until you’re in dire need of your Daddy and a good fucking.

He takes pride and joy in seeing your smile at a new, fancy bracelet or an adorable teddy bear. But he’s uncertain when buying. He knows what you like, yet he just can’t decide on which dress you’d prefer. Despite his self-doubts, his presents are usually excellent, especially any soft, thigh-high stockings or cute, striped panties he brings home.

Though you won’t ever be able to tell, sometimes it is hard for Shouta to discipline you. He enjoys your bratty moods and how you ignore his commands to sit still. Your whimpers and whines and facial expression are incredibly cute. But at the end of the day, he is your Daddy and it’s his responsibility to keep you on track and provide stability. His go-to punishment is no orgasming… for a long time. You can’t touch yourself or grind on a pillow. If you beg, it’ll only extend the punishment. Occasionally, spanking is also used, particularly when you’re riding him and not listening.

Highly dominant doesn’t always mean rough. Yes, he is that most of the time. But he has periodic moods where he won’t use discipline. It’s when he’s in a coddling mood. Daddy becomes gentle, erotic, intent, and intimate. Don’t hold back your moans. Please, whine and whimper and fuss and mewl. Your soft cries and little wriggles please him so. 

When he is rough, you’ll be leaving red streaks down his back. He loves seeing them in the mirror the next morning, so he strives to get you that aroused and pleasured every time. And nothing is truly off the books for him. Whatever you wish, he’ll command: slapping, spanking, choking, hair pulling, and spitting.

Shouta is more of a nonverbal Daddy. Both of you know he’s dominant and it’s your job to behave, so he doesn’t feel the need to command you as much as others may. He just yanks your body around as he pleases, slaps and chokes you when you don’t listen or get off-topic, and spits on your tongue to get you to quiet down. Now that doesn’t mean he won’t talk. At your misdoings, his steeled voice is gruff and guttural, commanding, punishing, and asking what you did wrong. 

Daddy gets even more domineering when you cum without permission. That’s the one rule you should never break. If he’s feeling charitable (which is rarer than a blue moon), he’ll let you cum. Other times, he’s deepthroating you, cumming down your throat, and making you swallow it. And that’s all you’ll get. Again, don’t beg. That’ll worsen the punishment. All you can do is be a good girl and hope he lets you cum in the next few days.

Gang Orca

Kugo never considered himself a Daddy or any sort of dominant man in general. The few times he’s had sex, he was more on the submissive side, letting his partner lead and ride him as they wished. His fear of hurting his partner really held him back. However, the instant he hears you softly, weakly whine Daddy, gently pawing his chest, pining for him to make you feel good, the switch is flicked and there’s no going back.

Before he fully engages in the Daddy Dom relationship, he does a lot of reading and asks you question after question. If he ever hurt you or pushed past your limits, he’d all but die inside. You need to ease into it. Let him become accustomed to the power dynamics, the dirty talking, what’s expected from him, and the lifestyle.

In the beginning, he’s as sweet as can be. You’re his little one whom he loves to spoil. He buys you dainty panties, comfy sweaters, and dresses for every occasion. You should always model clothing for Daddy. He’ll appreciate your appreciation. As you turn around in a cute, lace nightgown, his fingers flow up your thighs, caressing between them, gently brushing along your new panties, making sure everything fits perfectly. 

He gradually leans into the discipline aspect as the relationship grows. Once comfortable with himself and you, the punishments come frequently. They depend on the severity of your bad behavior. If you don't listen, you don’t get sweets. If you didn’t listen twice, you have extra chores to do. If you didn’t listen three times, no sexual gratification of any kind for however long Daddy deems necessary. 

In spite of that, he is a weak Daddy when it comes to his little one. Your puppy-dog eyes burrow into his heart. Your wiggling thighs get him heated. Your little mewls for your Daddy’s attention haunt him. But he doesn’t give in all the time. He still has structure, stability, and dominance to uphold.

Kugo is truly a safe Daddy. He’s your secret place where your every thought, desire, emotion, and fear will always be heard, understood, and respected. Whatever you tell Daddy when you’re curled up on his chest, snuggled in his arms, stays with Daddy. He guides you through the crowded mall, nurses the cuts on your legs, acts as an anchor through depression and anxiety, and protects you from the rumbling thunder. And by God, is he protective. 

Protectiveness is his main characteristic. He wants you to wear his T-shirt and sweatshirts. When he cums, he seats himself fully insides, letting him empty out completely. His hands rub your lower stomach like he’s feeling his property. Even as he falls flaccid, he stays inside. He needs to make sure everything has drained. If he could, he’d keep you filled with his seed forever.

Tender, slow sex involves you riding Daddy. He squeezes your thighs and tummy as you bounce. He praises every movement, every part, every itty-bitty sound. Your passion is so important to him. Seeing your body seek out its pleasure and rapture in the safety of your own little world fills his heart with love.

Dominant Daddy is less common yet so fulfilling. His thick, wet tongue washes deep. Fingers spread you wide. His erection spreads you further. You’ll be thrown on the bed, stuck under him for multiple beautiful orgasms. As you cum, moan ‘thank you’ again and again. Your gratitude encourages him. He’ll keep you moaning into the morning. 

Hound Dog

The second Ryo entered that seriously horny stage of puberty, he knew his dominance. As he started having sex, it only flourished. He’s rough, fast, controlling, and one-hundred percent, hands down a brat tamer. Your whines and protests are cute, but he always wins. Hearing his rasping, growling voice is enough to get you to concede to his demands.

Aftercare and any delicate aspects will take time and learning on his part. He wants to be so gentle, caring, and sweet with you. His natural rough nature gets in the way. As any good Daddy is patient with his little girl, a good girl needs to be patient with him. And when he gets there, he gets there. You’ll be swaddled in a warm blanket, given candy and drinks, and your favorite bed-time Tv will play while you wind down. His warm, smooth tongue laps over bruises and scratches.

There’s one big thing about this Daddy: God, he just loves to watch you suck: him (specifically his foreskin), his fingers, your fingers, a lollipop, a pacifier, whatever. Lay on his chest, wrapped in a blanket, and nurse on a binkie as you fall asleep. The most common way sex starts is with a blowjob. It commonly ends that way as well. He either makes you finish him with no pleasure for you or, after you’re finished, he lays you down and deepthroats you.

Right off the bat, punishments are a main part. There’s a written list on the fridge you must obey. Though he doesn’t spank. You might act up just to get spanked, and he won’t have that. The discipline always matches the offense. Are you back talking? You’re eating something you don’t like. Is your temper too hot? You’re taking an ice-cold shower for five minutes. Are you ignoring him? Daddy’s going to rile you up then leave you hanging and whining, showing you what it’s like to be neglected.

After the punishment is complete, Ryo transitions right into aftercare. Daddy loves you enough to punish you. That love is strengthened after by his licks and kisses. Besides, Daddies who don’t show their little girl compassion and care afterward, aren’t good Daddies. He loves and respects you and wants you to know, see, and feel that.

And the punishments never push past your boundaries. You’re never put in danger. In any way. The safe word is always available. He won’t give you food you truly can’t handle for whatever reason. He’s right beside you as you shower just in case something goes wrong. The moment the water’s shut off, you’re immediately swathed in a cozy towel.

During one of his more… inflamed moods, you’re fastened in a collar. It’s pink with little flowers. The heart decoration on the front is a padlock. Only he has the key. It has ‘Daddy’s Girl’ inscribed on the back. It goes on as soon as you get home. And it stays on until you leave. There is a leash he’ll use if you aren’t behaving, holding, leading, and controlling all your movements.

There are times when he goes into (sort of) a heat. It could be a quirk side effect. It could just be him. Either way, you’re going to get completely dominated. Your hair will be pulled. Your throat will be choked and fucked. Your cheeks, both sets, will be red and raw. Scratch marks and dark bruises will stain your neck, legs, and back.

His favorite is any doggy-style position. It’s carnal and crude. Daddy has total authority since his weight bears down, caging you to the bed. Use your voice. Let him hear every gasp and cry. Beg for him. Plead for more. Pray for just one more orgasm as your hair’s tugged and clit’s smack sore. The harder you crave, the harder he thrusts.

Sweet sex is a rare time when he kisses and cuddles. Heat surrounds you. Muscled thighs and callused hands direct your weak, longing body. His tongue never leaves your mouth, licking over yours, causing drivel to drip down your chin. It may not be rough, but the sincerity and intimacy provide more than enough pleasure for an amazing orgasm. And Daddy passionately walks you through it.

[blog-name-idk]

Here I GOOOO! (Also no shade @gothroughthelookingglass I just love man(go)splaining things and I am very much aware that you probably don't need this pedantic level of detail but I have had coffee and ADHD meds for work so WHEEEEEEEeee!

This presentation will have two main sections:

Etymology of \chaibts and @americanobts

The Story

~~~~~

Etymology

Let's start with straight facts.

\chaibts:

The nomenclature of this blog derives from the "chai", a word meaning "tea" in various languages and is often most commonly associated with masala chai, a tea blend originating in India.(1)

"Tea" is a slang term for gossip/insider information, for example: "I'm gonna spill the tea on Tesla's unethical business practices."(2)

So, we can can infer that the alleged intent of this blog is to "call out" problematic members of the BTS fanfiction community on Tumblr.

americanobts:

A riff off of the title of \chaibts! Continuing the caffeinated beverage theme (as an americano is essentially espresso diluted with hot water), plus our very own Min Yoongi's beverage of choice is an iced americano!(3)

Which... well... I realize the asker knows all of most of this considering their "this doesn't have to do with drinks right?" but I wanted reasons to use citations.

Based on the riff, it's reasonable to conclude that this is a response/account made to counteract a lot of the negative impact the tea blog has had on the community.

~~~~~

The Story of Good vs. Evil

That's obviously an exaggeration but it's a catchy section header. And also this is the meat of this post and mostly my opinions/conclusions.

@americanobts was created as an initiative to spread more kindness and love in our Tumblr community! It's very new (as of... yesterday 30May2023?) and is a blog where users can post anonymous shout outs to blogs they like, whether it's the content or the person behind it. In my opinion, it's a welcome breath of fresh air and a nice reminder of why I'm here to begin with - to write fic and simp with my delulu brethren.

Whether it was the intent or not (though I think we can safely assume it played a part), it is also a way to push back against a lot of the hate and toxicity that has been permeating the BTS Tumblr fanfic community lately. (Which, if we can all just take a step back and read that sentence and realize how ridiculous it is...)

There will always be trolls and angry people who hide behind their anonymity - there's no refuting that. Some people are just very sad. I think the biggest issue with \chaibts is that it gives these voices a platform to yell whatever they want about whoever they want and broadcast it publicly. Without the tea blog allowing these anonymous asks, hateful comments would only be able to be sent to CCs directly (which, while still shitty, is at least private if the CC chooses not to post it). To air grievances publicly in a post that would see the light of day (unlike us Tumblr gremlins who never go outside), they would need to either out themselves or make a whole burner blog.

While there have been times where legitimate issues have been posted on \chaibts, a lot of people send anons that just complain/pile on hate and aren't actually productive in terms of encouraging learning/growth. It's like searching for one piece of hay in a very exhausting, hurtful needle stack. A lot of the takes on there feel very entitled and lack any amount of nuance/room for growth and some of them are downright hypocritical. Whether right or wrong, good or bad, they make a LOT of assumptions about real, breathing people based on the very minimal amount of personality they are allowed to see online.

And because authors get called out by blog name, a lot of them end up getting a lot of unwarranted hate in their own anons because from the guise of anonymity, people say things they would never dream of saying to someone in person.

Er.... this ended up getting a lot longer and more serious than I intended, especially because I prefer to be as unserious as possible on Tumblr. But issues like this can really ruin what is often a safe space and refuge for a lot of people, and that's why I think @americanobts is such a lovely idea. A lot of creators who were NEVER targeted or named by the tea blog had already been expressing discomfort with the current State Of The Union here, and a little bit of kindness goes a long way towards reminding us that the end of the day we came here and started these blogs because they make us happy.

And if someone threatens that safe space for you? Block 'em, because they're not worth it.

~~~~~

Citations:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masala_chai

https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/tea-slang-meaning-origin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_UT8x8dUXc

😍💜💐

[gothprentiss]

my reboot hot take is that i actually super don't mind the rossi grief thing that much.

it definitely highlights the extent to which prentiss and alvez are kind of auxiliary characters right now, and it's part of the show's loooooooooong history of killing off women for its male agents' development, but it doesn't center him in the same way that the show usually does-- like him lashing out in grief (behavior i think the show doesn't really allow for a lot of the time) is always about the other characters and their emotional depth and maturity. it's sort of a reverse gideon; rossi's not the team's source of stability as the most mature agent but rather the way that they show how connected they are to each other.

i don't mean this as a critique of the complaints about this. there's no angle from which this isn't obviously a misfire. most commonly i've seen people identifying the problem as the show's consistent focus on its white male characters. this makes the problem with this particular storyline pretty obvious: gideon was played by the most famous actor on the show; reid and hotch were the characters people were most attracted to, or cared about the most. this of course is what happens with white men in tv shows, but their popularity was obvious, and licensed their centrality. the choice to give him a dead wife was a tired one, and probably will be part of them setting him up to retire at the end of the season.

people rightly complain about how the reid addiction storyline was remarkably poorly handled. characters were shown to know he was struggling and only indicate their worry; when he was erratic, vulnerable, or volatile, the characters around him absorbed that behavior without really reacting to it outside of the immediate scene. i don't know that this will go any better but we do see someone who's been (differently, of course) erratic, vulnerable, and volatile, and the narrative is far clearer that cutting him slack is a problem, and also that it's a combination of everyone assuming he's doing better than he is, and the way that everyone around him is isolated, spread thin, and strapped for time and energy. we get to see people treating him with different kinds of care: garcia talks to him about trauma and therapy; alvez treats him with familial patience and empathy; prentiss approaches him with advice she wishes she'd taken, from a source she thinks he's more likely to respect (the gideon don't go silent thing... i'm obsessed). i think his repeated clashes with garcia suggest that she's also going to be at the center of this season, especially given this show's tendency to condense processes of healing and grieving to a few short episodes, then relegate them to passing mentions at most.

in short, i think that this particular rossi arc is definitely just more of the same, but more of the same which, so far, is being conducted better: characters recognize that they're failing each other and respond in ways which are unique and personal; the Evil Administrator storyline that this show loves to lean on is likewise part of their interpersonal world, and we get to see why these problems have gone on the way that they have. this probably won't end up being a thoughtful meditation on loss and community, but it is, so far, way more thoughtful about how the characters care for and are responsible to each other than i've seen the show be in a long while. not great that it's rossi, but it's an improvement, and i'm fascinated to see where it goes.

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY THURSDAY – Why Did Metroman Retire?

Happy Almost-Friday, everyone! And even though Minion threatens to smother everything he cooks in old Limburger cheese each time I say it: SPOILER WARNING!

Yes, I know, it’s three a.m. and it’s technically Friday, but I’m still calling this Thursday night, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Okay, let’s be honest, Metroman is a character who seems, on the surface, to require little explanation in the film Megamind. He’s only present in the beginning and end, and we spend half the movie believing he’s dead, and we learn that Metroman has done something almost unheard of among superheroes: he’s chosen to retire. The question is: why? There is a tendency to think that he's simply a spoiled rich boy who, (in his social life, at least,) does what he wants without regard for others, but is that really fair? Or could there be other possible reasons? Well, let’s take a look at a few fan theories that may explain why he chose to abandon heroism for a music career.

Metroman Didn’t Want to Be a Hero

Although he’s clearly based on—and perhaps even poking a little fun at—the Man of Steel, Metroman was no Superman. (I mean, okay, he was technically a super-man, since he had strength, speed, and powers far beyond what a human would possess.) Except, here’s the thing: he’s not a carbon copy of the Man of Steel; Metroman and Superman have completely different lives and personalities. This remains true despite the fact that they share a similar origin—that of being aliens from a dead planet—and identical powers—including laser-vision and flight. Even their code names are comparable. However, if we look deeper, it becomes obvious that Metroman and Superman are two very different characters.

Superman is all about being an upstanding hero. Although he can be annoyingly persnickety, and sometimes displays nearly oppressively unyielding strictures about right and wrong, one thing you can say about the Man of Steel is that he’s generally integral. He is exactly what his public image portrays him to be: a Good Guy through and through. The same isn’t true of Metroman, and in some ways that makes him a more complex and interesting character.

The childhoods of the two heroes are extremely different. As I’ve mentioned in Why Was Megamind Raised in Prison, when a boy, Metroman was a bully, not only making young Megamind an outsider and the object of everything from teasing to physical attacks, but also inspiring other students to do the same. Superman, on the other hand, far from being a bully was bullied by Pete Ross. Rather than using his powers against others, he was too responsible and good-hearted to use them even against Pete Ross. Metroman is adopted by super-wealthy parents, and is essentially a trust-fund baby, while Superman was adopted by a farm family. He grows up with a good work ethic and hometown values. Indeed, this economic discrepancy continues into adulthood. As far as we can tell, Metroman doesn’t need to work and has no job outside being a superhero. Superman, conversely, has to earn a living as a journalist. Finally, in the majority of comics, Superman avoids most public appearances, unless he feels they serve some beneficial social purpose. Indeed, he goes to great lengths to keep his identity a secret and avoid the public eye as much as possible. The first time we see Metroman in the film, however, he is basking in a crowd’s adoration at the dedication of a museum in his honor. Indeed, in the original script, then called Mastermind, Metroman’s real identity seems to be widely known. (In case you’re wondering, this is where the name Wayne Smith, commonly used in the fandom, originates from.) So, we see that these character are actually very different: one is a hero strictly for the greater good, and the other, while he certainly does a lot of good things, is also in it for the fame.

This may seem like I’m being harsh toward poor Wayne Smith, but his flaws do not, in fact, make him a bad person. The issue is that we’re comparing him to Superman who, while still certainly imperfect, is intended to be a better-than-average person in every way, including moral. Make no mistake, Metro City’s former hero isn’t any sort of villain; what he is is normal. If we’re honest, most of us would be pleased by wide-spread accolades and honors. He reacts to positive fame the same way nearly anyone would because, at his heart, he’s really just a typical guy. That is the material point: Wayne Smith really only wants to be an average citizen—a music star, perhaps, but still a relatively ordinary person. In that way, he and Megamind are alike: they both desire, more than nearly anything else, to be normal. The key difference is that Megamind’s sincere and driving concern for his city also makes him ideal for becoming a hero. (You can learn more about this particular fan theory in The Warden and in Megamind and Identity.)

So, why did Wayne Smith become a Defender in the first place, then? Again, I’ve briefly touched on this in previous posts, but it appears likely that Metroman was pushed into heroism just as much as Megamind was pushed into supervillainy. Because he was a bully with superpowers, it’s likely that adults around him realized something had to be done about Wayne. Otherwise he was a danger. So, they constructed an environment—the Li’l Gifted School—where he could be conditioned to seek the praise of others as well as to fight Megamind, who had been singled out as his future nemesis. (In fact, that conditioning is probably why he opted for a career that would put him on stage, aside from a probable love of music.)

Because the path chosen for Megamind involved more hardships and pain, it’s easy to forget that Metroman was in essentially the exact same plight. However, the fact remains that these were both children, and they were both being coerced into perceived destinies they didn’t want. Neither of them were given a choice and, in the end, both of them cast off the expectations pressed upon them to become the people they really wanted to be. The difference is that, because of our natural biases, Megamind’s rise to Defender of Metro City seems more noteworthy than Metroman’s step into Mr. Average Joe. The truth, however, is that both characters were basically doing the same thing: being true to themselves.

Metroman May Have Had Health Concerns

We know Megamind and Metroman are close to the same age—although the latter appears to be about a year rather than days old when he lands on Earth—but what that age is is open to supposition. We know, however, that they are almost certainly in their thirties, probably in their mid- to late-thirties. (Take a look at How Old is Megamind for more information about that.) However, we can see that Wayne is already going gray around the temples. Of course, some people’s genetics simply cause them to go gray earlier, and that’s certainly a possibility, but one fan theory suggest there may be more going on. The idea has been put forward that Wayne’s super-speed may be having an adverse effect on him, forcing his body to work overtime to keep up. The resulting physical stress could be making him age prematurely.

That’s not the only factor to consider. As hard as heroism may have been on his body, the effects on Metroman’s mind would have been even greater. Before the events in the movie, Metro City’s authorities—and, indeed, all its citizens—became too reliant upon their superhuman hero, and as a result that hero was run ragged. That isn’t a mere hypothesis. A scene that was storyboarded but never included in the final film makes Metroman’s plight perfectly clear. We see him being called from one end of the city to the other for everything from a massive explosion to an old lady needing help opening a jar. Keep in mind that, when hearing a cry for assistance, the hero would likely be unable to tell who truly needed him urgently and who was simply making unnecessary demands, thus he would have to rush to every call he heard. Even the city’s law enforcement seems to take him for granted, refusing to take criminals he just hand-delivered to jail because they’re on lunch break. The cumulative effect is that Metroman looks nearly frantic with stress.

This is important because, aside from the obvious mental and emotional concerns, this sort of stress accelerates aging as well. According to an article in the Huffington Post, when glycation and telomere shortening, as well as the over-oxidation, are caused by enduring heightened stress for prolonged periods of time, it can result not only in graying hair and premature wrinkles, but heart trouble as well. Even the memory can be affected, as one study by the University of Wisconsin found that stress can age a person’s brain up to four years faster than normal, and contribute to cognitive problems later in life. (The study was part of a presentation—you have no idea how badly I wanted to write that word in all-caps—and is thus currently unpublished, but information about it can be found in an article from Over Sixty.)

Metroman Retired for the Good of Everybody

As you can see, in a strange way, having a super-powered Defender was actually crippling Metro City. In fact, it may be truly damaging to the local infrastructure and official organizations. Youtuber Olaf Scholtens, in his video Megamind: Power and Identity, uses the metaphor of an airplane manufacturer to explain what’s going on. (If you’ve read my own post Megamind and Identity, you’ve seen this before.) Engineers and factories put a lot of effort and expense into making certain aircraft are as safe as possible, but what would happen if they felt they could confidently assume a superhero would simply catch any plane that crashed, saving everyone on board? Safety standards would probably become far more lax, and people might be in far more danger as a result. Given the way that nearly everyone in Metro City seems to assume Metroman will always save the day, it’s possible that, within the urban area, the same thing could be happening with things like building code enforcement, large construction projects, and even public safety measures. Bridges might not be properly built, fire hazards might not be addressed, and, given the blasé attitudes of the cops in the storyboard, law enforcement officers might not even be bothering to keep an eye on things. By retiring, Metroman forced the city to become more self-sufficient again.

That, however, may not have been the only problem Metroman was trying to solve. Remember the whole discussion about the former Defender’s school boy bullying and the apparent conspiracy to turn one boy into a hero and the other into a supervillain? It’s possible Wayne may have felt remorse for the former and found out about the latter. Having battled Megamind so much in the past, he also may have realized that the blue man never actually hurt anyone, and in fact went out of his way to stage their confrontations in abandoned places. (Again, you can read more about that in both Megamind and Identity and The Warden.) It may be that Metroman real “brilliant plan” wasn’t simply to fake his death, but in doing so to prod Megamind into becoming a hero and thus accepted by society.

There is an alternative theory, put forward in a Reddit post, that Megamind and Metroman’s parents may have known one another, and may have sent both children to Earth with the intention of them becoming a dynamic duo, fighting evil together with Megamind as the brains and Metroman as the brawn. This could have been what Megamind’s father meant when he told his son: “You are destined for greatness.” While there is very little support for this in the movie, it would explain why, in the vast cosmos, both of the young survivors were sent not only to the same planet, but even to the same city.

Whatever the reason may have been, one thing is certain: there certainly is some evidence that Metroman intended his one-time nemesis to become a hero. One of his lines, after Roxanne and Megamind discover he’s still alive, supports this. You know the one. “If there’s bad, good will rise up against it. It’s taken me a long time to find my calling; now it’s time you find yours.” Then, of course, there is another line, when Music Man is watching his former enemy take the role of Defender of Metro City: “way to go, Little Buddy. I knew you had it in you.”

If Metroman really did purposefully help Megamind step into heroism, that could also explain why he didn’t stop Megamind from taking over the city—perhaps he trusted the blue man not to harm anyone and to eventually come to his senses—as well as why he refuses to overtly help defeat Titan. He does, however, clearly subtly assist Megamind, as the latter almost certainly went back to Wayne’s hideout to scan his appearance and voice into the holowatch. All of this together makes it seem quite plausible that Metroman not only wanted to retire, but also wanted the blue man to take his place.

Megamind and Metroman by White-Night-56 on Deviant Art

Maybe this means that, now that Megamind is the Defender of Metro City, he and Music Man occasionally get together to commiserate over the more difficult aspects of being a superhero and joke about the old days.

It’s also quite possible that all of these fan theories could be true. The film Megamind is, among other things, surprisingly subtle, complex, and subversive for an animated movie. Every time I dive deep into some aspect or other of the plot, I am once again impressed by the amount of thought and detail that went into this work. No wonder Megamind—and its characters—have so many dedicated fans.

[tippytopdays]

Shooting Stars Decorated in Electrical Wires CH 1 (Cyrus/Reader)

Category: Gen

Characters: Cyrus, Reader

Summary: Running a company was something he was well versed in. The stress and responsibility he shouldered was a constant in his life from dawn till sunset. Very little changed from day to day, and he was certain it would remain so.

That is, if he wasn't dealing with the most ignorant employees imaginable.

Notes: this is something that I've been working on for weeks now, entirely because I thought it was too funny not to. It's based off of @leggerefiore and co's Normal Cyrus AU that was pretty short lived, but I thought it deserved something short at the least. I don't expect this to go beyond 7 chapters but we'll see.

Also Cyrus is really funny to write.

There were many things the leader of Team Galactic was. Intelligent, calculating, proper. He was, without a doubt, the best at what he did.

That is, if he didn’t have to deal with the most ignorant employees imaginable.

It was practically clockwork when yet another incident happened for one reason or another. Always ending up tossed onto his desk by one of his head managers. However there was the odd time when Saturn would find himself involved in the nonsense, too. He would give the CEO credit for having enough tolerance for all this; something he didn’t have as much of.

Such as now. 

The manila envelope was innocent enough. A simple blue, the insignia of the company it resided in plastered on it’s face. It came from Saturn’s office directly, which meant it happened somewhere in his jurisdiction, which would also normally mean it was his problem.

But then it wouldn’t be on his desk, so of course it wasn’t that easy.

He just stared at it harder, arms crossed and all. If he glared at it hard enough maybe it would just go away and he wouldn’t have to deal with more ridiculous problems than he already did on the regular. 

But no, that was too easy. Of course it was.

So with a heavy sigh he picked up the folder. Light in his hands it could have held anything from managerial records to a production report. The meager hope he had could have been much more, the idea that it could just be something of actual importance tempting, yet it died the moment the profile flipped into view.

The name and serial were already in view, highlighted for ease of access. Bright blonde locks were tousled in a failed effort for professionalism on the young man’s face. Credit was due for the effort at being stern for the photo, even if the hard lines did very little to make him seem older than he was.

None of that mattered to the glaring red mark of the stamp he’d commonly used for employees currently detained that was spread across the page.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. A pulse had started to form behind his eyes. Careful, practiced rubs attempted to bypass it. It accomplished little. 

Yet another incident, yet another meeting with the police chief. The vain effort at controlling the company’s reputation was starting to take it’s toll. Something like anxiety had already pulled at his nerves every time a file would be brought to his desk; it was a miracle it hadn’t made it into his nightmares by now. If the current events went on much further, he was bound to lose whatever patience he had left. 

The file snapped shut, flopping onto the desk. If he looked at it any longer he was going to give himself a brain hemorrhage. He clasped his hands over his forehead, closing his eyes.

A breath, held in for a moment before releasing, the action repeated however times necessary. A practice he’d used to keep himself sane once upon a time, now staved off a building migraine that threatened his consciousness daily. Despite the strain he was quite used to the antics, annoying as they were. Roughhousing with fellow employees or battling random trainers were common enough occurrences.

It was only when they toed the line between annoyance and hazard that his problem lied. Such as, and he would quote Mars for this, ‘setting fire to a rival company's entire front yard’. 

He stood up then, the chair rolling away from his back. The headache dulled into a thrum in his temples, ignored easily enough. Straightening his jacket he brushed a hand through his hair. 

Croaked mewls turned his attention to the corner of the room, “I am fine. Do not concern yourself.” The words, though practiced, were true in spite of the frustration coiled in his ribs, “I merely need a moment to gather myself before handling this situation.” 

Yellow eyes blinked balefully. The Weavile laid in her bed, arms up about her chest from the sleep she’d been so rudely disturbed from. A pouty scowl on her tiny muzzle pulled her bleary eyes into something closer to disdain than concern, though he knew it to be a farce. With a huff, her jaw rested atop her paws as she watched him organize himself.

He did not give her the attention she sorely craved. Moody was the best term to describe the pokemon, as Mars again put it. He knew better than to believe in the irritation she played on her face so well. 

Once he was certain he was presentable he picked up the file. After giving the folder a final baleful glare he set it under an arm and approached the door. Pattering feet followed along once the pokemon made a bemoaning mewl, her little bed left behind in the corner. 

He let the door shut behind them. At the beep of the lock he reordered the file to allow the claws sinking into his pant leg time to scale upwards, placing it back in its place once she’d settled on the opposite shoulder. The purrs vibrating across his sternum were of mild comfort to the budding headache still trying to form.

Leaving the upper floors was normally the least stressful part of his commune. Had it been any other situation he would have never even left the office let alone do so with any documents on his person. Most of the problems that commonly cropped up were swiftly sorted out through emails or messages sent to the managers or other CEO of the area. 

This time was one of the few where he’d get involved directly.

One of the many engineers on the floor looked up at him as he passed. If the slight jolt in his shoulders wasn’t enough to belay the tenseness of his expression, then the sidestep the boy made to clear his path was. 

All for the better that he be left to his thoughts. He wasn’t one for casual conversation anyways. 

The elevator dinged ahead, doors opening slowly. He sighed under his breath; the quicker he was out of the building the better. The lack of interaction would keep the migraine at bay. He could only handle so much stress. 

That was until a shock of auburn hair from within the contraption had the tension peak. It was all he could do to silence a huff as the woman looked up from the clipboard, “Hey Boss! Wow you look mad.” Her wave paused mid motion to point instead, “Something happen? Do I have to ruffle some coworkers’ feathers again?”

“No, Mars, I am perfectly capable of handling the situation at hand.” While the tick in his temple said otherwise he did his best to manage it. He nodded towards the papers in her hands, “I see you have your own business to attend. See to it that you handle it swiftly, I do not wish to return to find everything in shambles again.” Even when he stepped inside and pressed the ground floor she made no move to leave. He’d hoped the finality of his words would pressure action but to no avail.

“But that was one time!”

“Maybe so, but once was enough.” The pressure was starting to build again, “As I said. I have the situation under control. There is no need to involve yourself in this, Mars.” He knew his words were clipped and tone short but he didn’t bother to change it. She was a capable manager, she could handle a bit of his ire.

She went silent then, a mercy he could briefly revel in. As the machination dinged its way down he opened the file once more. The words were practically burned into his memory but he had little else to do in the emptiness between them.

He knew exactly when she tried to reach for it. The sudden hackles brushing against his neck and low growl from the pokemon vibrating her lithe body quickly had his attention shift, file raised out of the woman’s reach, “What are you doing.” 

She just rolled her eyes, “I wanted to see what’s got you so worked up. You’re really pissed about something and you’re being a jerk about it.”

“How I act should not concern you.” A tick throbbed at his temple, “As much as I respect you I demand the same in return. Do not try it again.” 

She huffed, crossing her arms, “It’s not like I was going to touch you. I know you’d get all over me for that.” Again she pointed at the file, “Whatever it is you can let me help you with it. It’s not like you made me manager just to stick me with desk work.” 

He merely raised a brow at her, mild bemusement soothing the smoldering wrath lodged in his chest. The fact that she was right wasn’t enough to sway him yet, however, “Regardless, I am able to handle this situation. I do not require your assistance.” Stoutly he turned away from the raised brow she gave him, file tucked away under his arm again.

The digital dial in the corner blinked down from ten. His temple throbbed.

A sharp inhale brought him pause, confusion trickling over the ire before the file was ripped out of his grasp.

The jump he made nearly launched him into the wall. Weavile was yowling, swiping the air in the vague direction of the opposite shoulder. He snapped to look at her, eyes wide.

Mars was staring down at the pages, her own scowl twisting her face, “Another one? Really? It hasn’t even been a week since the last one-”

“What did I say.” It was not a question. The hike in her shoulders marked the shift in demeanor, “I am perfectly,” He snatched the file out of her hand, “Capable of handling it. Do not. Do that. Again.” The scowl on his face pulled sharp. Fire licked at his insides, spitting between his teeth and directed at his underling.

Her red hair shadowed her eyes as she cowed. The clipboard that had been set under her arm drummed under frantic fingers, the other hand resting on her stomach. Nervous. Something she rarely was, especially with his irritation common during their trysts. She was a spitfire, but had her limits.

He did not lessen. His glare remained absolute, pinning the woman to the other side of the elevator. He knew she could feel it, ‘like ice if it had a voice’ she’d said once. Good. If it keeps her hands to herself, the better. 

But the fire in his bones cooled the further they dropped. A count of five, blinking across the digital clock above, had his hand gripping the bridge of his nose to calm his nerves. Jitters wracked his fingers as they pinched the flesh.

He breathed. Twice more. And released with a sigh, “...Apologies.” Her feet shuffled, edging further away. The hand shifted to rub at his aching forehead and drag down his face, “...I am under threat of a migraine, and any more stress is highly unwelcome.” He mumbled behind his hand, turning his glare to the doors, “I understand that you are curious, but I will have to go over the details in the meeting tomorrow anyway, so you will have to be patient for me.” The last words were tacked on unconsciously, yet still with intent.

The final dings of the elevator almost covered her soft voice, “....Okay…” 

Mercifully, the doors finally open, though he was unsure how merciful it was.

He breathed, the stifled air of the elevator purging into the lobby. Electricity crackled in the air, still present even so far away from the generators. Coworkers and visitors alike milled about the base floor of the building. 

As he lowered his hand, jitters sated for now, she called to him again, “I’m sorry..”

He paused. Once. Twice.

“I know. You are forgiven.” 

It was not much. It was all he could offer. 

He still relaxed under the surprisingly peppy chirp that followed her steps away, “Later, Cyrus! I’ll get you a coffee when you get back!” And then she was gone. Somewhere else in the vast halls of the lobby.

Shoulders uncoiled, he strode off himself. He could call it something like relief, what flooded in under his ribs, and he welcomed it. The fire stoked by the innocent file under his arm snuffed under the weight and released the majority of the tension in his body. He wouldn’t have noticed if it was raining had he not kept his eyes forward. 

The Weavile on his shoulder shook her head, flickers of red and black at the edge of his vision. She scratched at an ear idly. Her claws sunk into his clavicle at the sway of his steps, blocked by the texture of his jacket. She settled calmly back into her place with a subtle purr rumbling against his neck.

He spared the pokemon a glance before nodding towards the secretary. The doors of the lobby opened swiftly at his approach, aglow with the afternoon sun. It was calm, barely anyone was out due to the hour. Likely many were out to lunch or back in their workplace to continue the day. Whichever it was, he cared little.

A subtle breeze carried the scent of Spring. Fresh cut grass from the morning crews and exhaust from the city street. The tang of distant storms was in the air, coloring the heat with humid warmth.

Weavile adjusted herself again, clawing about to the other shoulder to escape the sun. Cold seeped into his jacket to offer reprieve from the relatively minor heat. Bitter little mewls left her curled snout as she snapped her teeth at the sun. 

He paid her no mind, turning away from where he paused at the doors. As they clacked closed he raised a hand to the file once more, ready to pull it free and sift through it yet again.

Something slammed into his side.

He barely lurched over, shoulders stiffened sharply with a grunt as he froze in place. The mass tumbled off and to the concrete with an unceremonious smack.

The yowls Weavile’s little throat screeched were lost in the ringing in his ears. Jolts twitched in his hands, shoulders hiked up into his neck. The pokemon had shifted at some point, her white claws waving across his vision as she struggled to reach whatever had hit him. 

Spasms wracked his chest. Air refused to fill his lungs. Tension snapped every bone in his body to attention, pressure building within the sinew the longer it held. 

Breathe. He needed to breathe. 

Forcibly jerking his chest into action he inhaled sharply. The sudden influx of cool spring air pushed out the chains tightening in his ribs, a second wind surging through his lungs. Jerking hands clenched at his sides as the rush slowly faded.

Once. Twice. Thrice. However more.

His eyes stung when he blinked, open for however long. Tight muscle relaxed with every breath, cold ice in his veins warmed to a more tolerable temperature. He still had to breathe manually, the spasms of his body redirecting most cognitive thought from rational to panicked.

Once. Twice. 

A deep breath finally soothed the nerves wracked by terror. He was hunched forwards when he’d fully returned to himself, hands fisted until his nails dug into his palms. Shivers bolted up and down his spine not unlike the power lines he worked so diligently with. 

Breathe. The cool air filled his lungs with the faint scent of the wildflowers growing in the nearby woods. A Combee was buzzing somewhere in the distance, no doubt after the wild plantlife.

Again he closed his eyes. The breath released, taking the tension with it into the unknown where it belonged. Instinctually he straightened, brushing off the front of his jacket from whatever may have caught on it in his stupor. Then he turned with the deepest scowl he could manage, retort on his tongue.

It died the instant he failed to find the familiar Galactic jacket most of his underlings bore.

Instead bright colors assaulted his senses. Palettes a mixture of light and dark mixed harmoniously in a vest atop a simple shirt. Something like jeans or dark pants meshed with the bright yellow of canvas shoes. 

Far from regulation was the first thought to come to mind. Absurd the second. None of his employees wore anything like it. He blinked, struggling to comprehend what he was looking at. 

You were staring back, eyes wide. 

Again he jumped, shoulders jerking out of their somewhat lax state. Weavile’s feathers nudged against his ear at the motion. 

Someone had run into him. A person had touched him, unwillingly. The jitters threatened to rise through his ribs again in the cracks shaking his composure. He firmly stifled them back, clenching his hands back into fists.

Flames licked at your side. Panic slipped in quickly before ebbing as the Chimchar scuttled off the ground. Little speckles of leaves dusted it;s back from when it fell, likely tossed off in the impact. The big ears fluttered against its face while it scratched its fur clean.

You were still staring up at him. Eyes flickered over his face, focusing on his for a moment before darting away. He could feel the pull of his brow lowering at the intensity in your gaze.

Barks pulled his attention away. Bright orange leered up from your hip, the Riolu stationed closely. A strip of leather adorn it’s neck clipped to a leash stretched up to your belt loop. It’s muzzle contorted in a small scowl, intently focused as the pokemon held a paw out towards him. 

The moment ended just as swiftly as it started. Riolu blinked, leer softening as it turned. Little barks were directed up but not to you specifically, the Chimchar snapping it’s attention at the other with bright eyes before smiling. Tapping your cheek, it waved a hand in your face with select fingers folded.

He was left blinking in the suddenness of it all. Barely a moment was given to react before the flashing colors had you shift your attention towards the ape on your shoulder. Once you’d taken in the hand motion you sighed, all tension in your shoulders dropping. You sagged on the spot in the daze.

He, however, was left to his own devices. Feathers brushed against his neck as his pokemon adjusted herself, a snout peeking into the edge of his vision. Exactly what had transpired eluded him in the stupor he found himself in. Something fluttered at his feet and, startled out of his thoughts, he looked down.

A piece of paper was stuck against his shoe. One bearing a very familiar stamp.

He stomped on it properly before picking it up. When returned to himself, he noticed the weight of the file was absent beneath his arm. Pages were already in the midst of scattering across the grounds in flickers of white. Definitely an unwelcome development, but the wind was light. It was unlikely the documents would scatter.

Of course luck would not enjoy his company, as it would be the moment he started to gather the pages that a breeze would sweep them up in it’s gale. 

A frustrated sigh was halfway through his tense jaw before he heard it. Your voice piped up in the middle of the ensuing chaos, “Oh no! Cherry!”

Immediately the Chimchar leaped off your shoulder. It darted off into the grass after one of the many pages floating away and squeaking in delight all the while. Nimble hands snatched the paper out of the air with a hoot, the other threatening to leave the premises caught soon after. 

He turned back to you as you got to your knees, picking up whatever papers had fluttered your way, “I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t see you until now!” You tapped the pages into uniformity before grabbing a few more, “I was in the middle of running and I just- I wasn’t paying attention..” 

Bewilderment was a persistent emotion, he realized. It stuck into his ribs like honey in a Combee hive and just refused to listen no matter how hard he scrubbed at it with reason. Instead of fighting longer he stowed it away as best he could, crouching to grab an errant paper before it scuttled away, “Do not apologize. I understand.” Maybe he didn’t, but he’d already exploded at one person today and felt thoroughly drained at the idea of repetition. He studied the page for a moment before placing it before the one in hand, “Mistakes happen.”

“Still, I should have been watching where I was going-oh thank you, Cherry.” The Chimchar chattered amiably as you took the pages from it, “Thank you for getting these. Now go get the others.” The pokemon, Cherry, bounced on it’s feet before giving chase.

Weavile had leaped off his shoulder at some point to chase pages herself. She leaped up, snatching an adventurous paper fluttering with the wind. The two nearly collided into one another in their combined efforts. Claws swiped and flames flickered but the spat ended as quickly as it started when even more pages fluttered off as they came to their own agreements. With both pokemon after the documents he had little worry about it getting more complicated than it was. Though he found it odd that only one of your pokemon was out searching. His eyes turned to you again with the errant file open in hand.

It was then he took notice of the vest adorning it’s body, letters written in bright, fluorescent fabric sprawled over a side.

‘Service Pokemon: Do Not Pet’

Ah, so that was why.

The papers were swiftly returned and organized into numeric order within the folder. He was careful not to brush hands with you when you handed your collection to him, wary of the Riolu’s leer still upon him. Brushing off the excess grass, and stubbornly ignoring the light stains scattered about, he stood up, “Thank you for your help.” He hoped he didn;t sound as stilted as he felt, “I was unsure I would regain them all by myself.”

You got to your feet a careful few paces away, “Don’t worry about it. I was trying to go out for a run with Poppy and I guess I lost track of where I was going.” You scratched at your head, looking around for a moment, “I…actually don;t know where I am..”

“Veilstone City. I assume you live closeby.” He pulled his gaze back to you, “It would be unlikely you would run from a different city entirely.” 

The bluntness in his voice pulled a flinch, which he felt the sting of guilt for. You tapped your hands together as you glanced away, “I-Um, yeah. I live a bit outside of town. Too much noise..” You trailed off for a moment, the Chimchar climbing back onto your shoulder snapping you out of your thoughts, “Ah! Um, I’m sorry but I don’t think I got your name?”

He blinked. That was…not a question many were willing to ask. Most he met would simply leave him to his business, whatever it may be. He’d never been in the position to mingle either, so the question caught him off guard, “......Cyrus. Why.” 

“Oh-uh well, we did kind of run into each other, right? My name is (Y/N), if-if that helps.” You were gesturing vaguely the entire time you spoke, hands going from gripping a hip to rubbing your neck. Nerves, he assumed, not that he faired better.

“(Y/N). Greetings, then.” The stiffness was back in his voice, again, “I apologize for the response, earlier. I had not been expecting a conversation.” Or to be run into, which was the real reason he apologized. He hoped that you wouldn’t be too upset or hurt; he had enough on his plate with the current problem he had in hand.

You, however, just waved him off with a bluster, “No no, it’s alright! I get it, really.” A small, timid smile was on your face before it faded into curiosity, “Although, I did notice how Weavile-your pokemon I mean, acted after I ran into you. Is..is he trained for that?” Hesitant eyes flickered between the two of them.

Weavile scuttled up his leg as he nodded, “Yes. She is.” He was careful with the correction, “I cannot claim myself as the sole reason. She is quite intelligent and was able to deduce that I am unused to physical contact on her own. How she managed it for me was something I worked with for some time however,” Said pokemon nuzzled carefully into his jaw as he scratched her cheek, “Normally, she would outright attack anyone who strayed too close. I have broken that habit of hers, do not be concerned.” 

The small flicker of fear upturning your eyes quickly faded, “Oh. Oh okay.” You were fiddling with your hands again, smile back on your face, “I thought you’d gotten her trained professionally with how well she acts. That’s what I had to do with Cherry, since she wouldn’t sit still long enough to pay attention.” The Chimchar merely batted at your hand when you gestured to her, completely ignorant to everything.

He tilted his head, intrigued, “So I see. Your Riolu had the same treatment, then?” He waved the file still in his hand towards the steel type, orange eyes staring back blankly.

“Um, no not really. Poppy is uh, is a bit different.” You jangled the leash attached to your belt loop, catching the Riolu’s attention, “She was actually from a specialty breeder before I set up to train Cherry. They were trained together, you see, so that they could work for me when I needed them. They’re uh, to help me function in public.” You were scratching your neck again, glancing away from his gaze.

If he were to guess–something he didn;t do often–he could make many assumptions as to why you had two service pokemon. The way you held yourself spoke volumes even if you didn’t realize; your eyes flickering away when you’d had enough eye contact was quite telling in itself. He could relate, in a way, during his younger years when the world was far too large and when he had no security to turn to. He nodded once more, glancing down towards the Riolu, Poppy, again, “I understand. I assume they are for your anxiety.”

You cringed, “....Is it that obvious..?” Hand rubbing at an arm you held your gaze away, the Chimchar chattering softly as she patted your chin. Even the Riolu was looking up at you with her paw gripping your pant leg. 

He remained quiet for a moment to weigh his words. If he spoke to soon, or too bluntly, then he could inadvertently cause you harm and possibly set back whatever progress you had. He was well aware of how much work it took just to get to the position he was now. Though he barely knew you, he was loathe to reset your effort.

So he set his shoulders, head tilted as he studied your face before answering, “Yes, but only because I know what to look for. As you might understand.” He gestured towards his pokemon, her soft feathers nudging into his jaw as he spoke.

A soft smile lifted the corners of your mouth, “I guess so. But I thought it was kind of obvious.” You waved a hand towards the pokemon at your shin that shuffled closer without breaking her focus on your face. 

Not once did you look at him even as he spoke, “Yes. Granted, as I said, I am well versed enough to understand what to look for. Not many others would be able to see it, unless they knew beforehand.” He let himself fall silent to wait for your own to pass.

Hands fidgeted with one another as you kept your gaze away from him, bangles around your wrists clinking in the motions. When you did answer your voice was soft enough that he almost missed it, “Okay. I just…I guess I’m still rattled. I know I shouldn’t be so upset about someone noticing.” You finally looked at him again with a hand scratching at your temple, “I guess we’re both a little messed up from earlier, huh?”

The nerves in your eyes churned in his chest. Spikes of guilt jabbed into his ribs as they pulled inwards. He hadn’t meant to come off as aggressive, but the constant oppression of his own employees ignorance wore his patience thin. It was only a matter of time before he’d finally snapped on the wrong person; he’d only hoped for more time before then.

A sharp knocking turned his attention away. The glass doors were still shut at his back, the secretary’s bright green eyes flitting between him and you. Her hand hovered over the landline against the wall with a deep crease in her brow. His eyes widened briefly before he shook his head.

He did not wait to see her return as he turned back to you. You were staring into the window as if you’d only just noticed it was there, wide eyes jumping around to take in the entire lobby, “I must apologize for my rudeness but I must be going. I was set out to accomplish something important and I intend to finish before the day ends.” Clipped. To the point. As he always was to most. Though now, it was the first time you were subjected to his matter of fact nature. 

Chimchar, Cherry, clambered to the other side of your shoulder to wave into the glass, “O-Oh, okay. Right.” Your wide eyes flitted wildly, hands fidgeting in plastic, “I’m sorry I got in your way.”

“Nonsense.” Weavile’s feathers brushed his neck as she shook her head with his, “It was merely an unfortunate happenstance. It’s unlikely to happen again.” He ignored the sense of repetition itching in his skull for your sake. File set securely under his arm once more he turned to take his leave.

“W-Wait!”

He paused. Confusion weaved into his brow as he glanced at you.

You were fiddling again. Nervous ticks abounded in your shuffling feet and fleeting gaze. Riolu stood proudly at your side with her eyes focused upon him, Chimchar mirroring her gaze with less intent and far more curiosity. Your hands twiddled, “U-Um, d-do you come out here often?”

A cooling breeze ruffled his hair. Soft purrs rumbled across his collar from the pokemon stationed on it. All thought came to an abrupt halt.

Out of everything that he’d dealt with today, collision included, that was the last thing on his mind. Any chance of something coherent coming out of his mouth was swiftly tossed out the metaphorical window. Instead he just, stared at you, blinking owlishly. No matter how long the silence went on–which was for seconds too long–you refused to look at him properly. 

So you just stood there in the slowly fading afternoon sun, pokemon at both of your sides, with you staring hard at your hands and him staring at you.

‘Awkward’ would be how Mars would put it. It was not, and would not, be the last time he was grateful she was nowhere nearby.

Finally, mercifully, you looked up. A curve was in your brow as if you were just as bewildered as he was, “...What?”

“...What?” 

“Wh-Why are you looking at me like that?”

He glanced at Weavile with nerves curdling in his gut, “..What kind of a question is that?”

You were giving him the same expression with a new twist in your lips, “W-Well I think it’s a good question because I don’t know why you’re giving me that look-”

“No-No not that one. The one before it.”

“What?” Even Poppy was looking between the two of them now. In fact both of your pokemon were ping-ponging their eyes between them both like it was the most entertaining experience they’d had in days.

Nervous energy won out over his control as he scratched at the bridge of his nose just to give himself the excuse not to look at you for a moment, “Not that. ‘Do you come here often.’ What did you mean by that.” He had to force the words out without betraying the shock in his voice, though he was unsure if he was successful.

The same confused expression sat on your face even after he said it. A tilt in your head added on to the near innocence in your demeanor before your own words seemed to click somewhere behind your eyes. And immediately you dissolved into panic, “N-No no I didn’t mean like that! I-I take this route every Wednesday and I don;t want to run into you again!”

Tension sighed out of his lungs instantly. His eyes flicked towards your frantically waving hands as he straightened, “No. This is not a common occurrence. It isn’t often that I leave the building until 5PM on the dot.” 

Your shoulders relaxed as well, “Good! That’s-That’s good. Yeah.” Your hands were fiddling again as you glanced down at the Riolu, still at attention at your hip, “I should probably get going too. Me and Poppy still have a run to make.”

“And where will your route take you?” He couldn’t help asking the same, “I would prefer knowing if I have to make a change in my return.”

“Oh, I just go down this path until I hit the pokecenter and loop back around.” You pointed somewhere ahead of him, “I-It’s not a very long route so I usually get back around 3.”

He nodded, “Excellent. I will be sure to keep my attention sharp.” Cold started to seep into his jacket again, nimble claws kneading absently. A bemoaning mewl rumbled in his ear from the poor pokemon forced to endure the sun’s heat without him to play barrier between them, “I apologize again for leaving so suddenly.” He glanced at the Weavile, ignoring the pout in her muzzle, “What I must attend to leaves me little time for much else. I assume I will be at it for some time.” 

“Okay. So, I guess I’ll just get going then. Poppy.” Said Riolu snapped her eyes up to you at the jangle of her leash, “Let’s go. Come on, hup!” With a snap of the leather the pokemon started dashing away with you at her heels. The little Chimchar waved amicably from your shoulder as you passed, her little chatters of farewell prompting you to do the same. 

Curtly nodding, he stepped aside. He watched you for a moment; you trailed off down the path further on, Riolu at your side one you caught up. Both of you fell into near sink with one another as you jogged around the corner and out of his line of sight.

Content, he pulled the file out from under his arm. Pages of lingo flitted past as he flicked through the entire piece, each one in it’s place.

That is, until he reached the end.

It was the same photo as before. Blonde hair tousled, eyes straight; a picture of attempted professionalism marred by the same stamp. Though now the young man’s face was streaked with green, in the distinct shape of a certain ape pokemon’s palm.

At some point he would have felt the same wrath flare in his chest at such a notion. That one of his documents had been damaged in any way was cause enough for a swift scolding, let alone to be damaged so permanently. But now the flames barely licked at his sternum. It wasn;t as if you knew, of course, that your pokemon had done such a thing; even more likely that she didn’t either. 

An accident was all it was. Nothing more. 

Whatever the case, he’d deal with it later. He rearranged the page back to the front and the file swiftly snapped shut. Stuffing it back under his arm he turned back onto the path. Weavile situated herself atop his shoulder, more comfortable from the heat now that his head was back in the way. Little purrs vibrated her claws as her whiskers nuzzled his cheek. 

He cast a brief glance towards where you’d disappeared as he reached the crossway, turning the opposite.

He had lost time to make up. The police station was far enough as it was.

[cl-01-kestis]

My Little Rebel - Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Female Rebel!Reader | Part 14

Summary: After getting a new leg installed, you travel into the depths of Coruscants night life and find yourself in a surprising scenario.

Warnings: hints of nsfw, alcohol consumption

(Keep in mind Cal is aged up to 19)

Quick note: This original post had an nsfw scene in it, I’ve taken it out because I feel like it doesn’t fit the story well at all. I’ve still implied that something happened, but you can perceive it however you want.

The sounds were so deafening, silence flooded your mind and you hated it. High pitched ringing rattled around your ears and pierced your ability to hear for a while after it stopped. You can’t remember the last time you opened your eyes, the light slid through your lashes and you felt like you might’ve been something other than alive. You could still feel your heart beat, you still sucked in weak breaths of air through your nose.

The first thing you smelled was metal, thick stench of silver varnish, polish and gasoline. You wanted to gag but something about being it seemed to calm you down, you felt like you were back on Yavin again but you knew you weren’t. Your fingers twitched and you opened your eyes slowly, immediately shutting them back over when you tealised two big bright lamps were bent over your still form which seemed to be lying on a leather made bed, a medical bed.

You weren’t in the Mantis, that’s for sure. The last thing you remembered was falling down after getting your leg cut clean off, after that everything was black.

“She’s waking” You heard a foreign voice speak, clearly there was people in the room spectating you as you slept. You attempted to open your eyes once more and squinted them instead of closing them over, your arms moving beside your waist to push yourself up and regain full consciousness.

As soon as your eyes adjusted to the light of the lamps looking down on you, they focused on the brand new shiny leg, replacing the one that was cut off. Only then did you realise just how much of your leg you lost, the metal started right at your v line and was attached to a metal brace that was wrapped right around your hips.

“Where am I?” Was your immediate response to your surroundings, shifting your position so your legs dangled off the bed and you held your head to avoid getting a headache due to how quickly you had woken.

“Hiding in the lower levels of Coruscant” Cere’s soft voice called out, the sound of chair legs scraping against the concrete floor before her face appeared in front of you. Cere was slightly lower than you due to how tall the bed was, looking up at you with her beautiful brown eyes and trying to avoid staring so much at your new leg. Processing her words, you let out a soft hum in response and blinked a few times to adjust to the light.

“We were lucky enough to find a mechanic who fixed you up, the leg should take a few days to get used to” Cere informed you in a serene voice, resting a hand on your knee on your real leg and reaching out her other one to hold your hand. You nodded your head at her words and looked up to find that Merrin was fast asleep in the corner, sitting on a chair with her arms folded and head tilted slightly to the side.

“Everyone’s asleep, the time’s 10 at night, I’d get more rest if I were you” You turned your head to meet the eyes of a young man, around the age of 18 with scruffy, curly hair and a face that was patched with oil and polish. Clearly he was the one that fixed you up.

“Thanks” You smiled at him, watching as he wiped his hands with a clean cloth after rinsing them under a tap which was in the corner of the room.

“It’s no bother, just don’t walk around too much just yet, this’ll take a while getting used to” The young mechanic said, chucking the dirty rag somewhere random and walking up to tell you more about your new metal leg.

“It’s made of Alum, commonly used for Mandalorian armour so it should stay intact for a few years. You can move it around, it’s attached your nerve endings to the legs so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find your way around it” He explained calmly, getting down on one knee in front of you and holding your ankle.

“If you may, I’d like to test the flexibility” He offered with a kind smile, earning a blush from you as you nodded your head and let him do what he had to do.

He stretched your leg out as if it were your other one, his hand holding down the robotic legs knee as the other one cupped your ankle, strething it so it was level with your hip and making sure he wasn’t going too far. You felt strange, it was as if you felt his fingers ghost on where your ankle should be, you never knew what it felt like to have a fake limb but here you were. Recklessness got you here and taught you a valuable lesson.

You were surprised you weren’t as shocked and as heartbroken as you should’ve been, you were pretty laid back about losing a leg, that says a lot about you. But you’re a Jedi after all, Jedi shouldn’t be scared and that’s one thing you aren’t. So you blame it on that.

Plus, it looks cool as hell. When people notice that one of your legs isn’t natural they’ll probably stay away from you, which is a good thing. Intimidation might be the way to go through to restoring the Jedi temple, you want people to avoid you and this was the first step of doing so. But still, a part of you felt pissed off because your real leg was sitting around somewhere in the holocron vault.

“How does it feel?” The mechanic asked, stretching it further. You felt strange around the area where your ham strings should be, he did say he wracked your nerve endings with the legs ones so it made sense as to how you could still feel everything.

“It feels normal, not sore” You replied, wriggling your robotics toes and rolling your ankle to test it’s flexibility.

“That’s good! If you’re ready, try standing up” He got off his knee and stood up, dusting his trousers off and reaching out for your hand.

You were reluctant to take it at first, your eyes flickering to Cere who nodded at you in encouragement. “You can do this” She smiled.

Taking his hand, you lean forward and hike yourself up onto your feet. Instantly, you crashed down onto the floor and thankfully landed on your hands instead of your face, saving you a few other instalments.

“Thought that might happen, it’ll take some time to walk straight” Cere informed you, looking at the mechanic who nodded his head at her statement and helped you back on your feet, this time holding your arm whilst Cere held your other.

“This is so weird” You sighed, closing your eyes briefly to gather your thoughts and gain the strength to take your first step on your new leg.

“It will be, dear” Cere assured you softly, rubbing your shoulder before helping you sit back down on the bed you woke up on, patting your back before leaning down and pressing a motherly kiss on your head. You smiled at her gratitude and squeezed her hand before letting her go back to sitting down beside Merrin who was still fast asleep.

-

Some time had passed and it was coming up to 11:30, Cere was asleep and so was Merrin but you were wide awake, getting used to walking around with a new leg and having the support of the mechanic who kindly gave you a crutch if you were to ever fall over.

You paced around the workshop for some time, using the crutch and waddling about till the pain in your leg went away and the nerves got comfortable enough to let you walk around without any trouble. Sleep wasn’t something you craved at that exact moment so you decided that sneaking out and finding clues about your past would be useful.

“Hey listen, have you seen a lightsaber around here?” You asked the mechanic whilst walking up to him without the crutch but still holding it in your hand, watching as his expression changed from emotionless to surprised.

“You’re the owner of that thing? Here I was thinking the Jedi were extinct!” He exclaimed with a delightful tone, grabbing your lightsaber from his workshop table and chucking it to you from a fair distance, a far enough distance that required you to reach it with the force.

“Not all of us” You replied with a smirk, bringing it up to your gaze and widening your eyes once you realised there had been a few changes made to the lightsaber.

“I noticed it wasn’t in very good condition when you came in, decided to patch it up... might be useful” The man said, walking up to you and pointing to the hold at the opposite end of the hilt.

“Double blade...” you whispered to yourself in amazement, looking back up to the mechanic with big bright eyes and bringing him in for a tight and unexpected hug.

“Thank you for this” You mumbled in his ear, squeezing him before letting him go and bringing your attention back to the saber. The mechanic cleared his throat and smiled, trying to suppress the blush spreading on his face as he watched you further inspect the newly improved saber.

With the click of the button, your lightsaber burst into life and a matching blade appeared on the other side. You felt so emotional looking at it, this would strengthen your combat skills enough to take down a full Inquisitor, it made you happy to see it. You’d heard so much about different Jedi who wielded double sided lightsabers, they were only used in advanced combat so it was never common amongst most of the Jedi. Only the most skilled could wield one.

Testing its movement, you adapted quickly to the new model of lightsaber and spun it skillfully around your body. You adjusted to the heaviness of the model and made sure it didn’t hit any parts of you as you made the saber come to a still once more and turned it off, the blades sheathing back inside the hilts.

“This is perfect” You beamed, nodding in approval at the mechanic who bowed his head in gratefulness and let out a relieved chuckle.

“That’s good to hear” He replied, turning to his workshop table once more and leaving you to get ready to wherever you wanted to go. But you were lost for directions at the moment, you’d never been to the lower levels of Coruscant before so of course you’d get lost without some advice.

You didn’t want to pester the mechanic further, so you approached the bed you woke up on and placed the crutch on it, dusting yourself off and grabbing your combat trousers which had been taken off for the procedure for your synthetic leg.

“You have any idea where I can find a popular club around here? It’s not what you think it is, I’m just trying to get in touch with someone” You turned around to the mechanic whilst fitting your new leg into the leg hole of your trousers, slipping it through and then getting your other one in.

“Why a club?” He asked with confusion, screwing on a gadget to a droid which was out of power, he was clearly trying to regenerate it.

“It’s busy, clubs are usually full so it’ll be a good place for me to blend in” You replied with reason, earning a fair nod from the mechanic who put down the screwdriver and wiped his hands.

“I’ll write down the navigations for you, look out for a club called the Outlander, that’s one of the most popular on the top level. But if you’re looking for something more on the lower side, go for Club Kasakar” The mechanic said whilst scribbling a bunch of messy handwriting in Aurebesh, your second language.

Not many people knew, but even though you were born on Coruscant, long before the Jedi found you, your mother and father were from Corellia so your first taught language was Old Corellian. Only when the Jedi found you did you start speaking Aurebesh.

“Here, this should help” He said, walking up to you and handing the piece of paper with a smile. You took it graciously, thanking him silently before looking over his handwriting and studying the navigation to both of the clubs.

“Also, one more thing,” you looked up to the mechanic who looked at what out were wearing.

“Turn up at a club like that, they won’t let you in... no offence” He warned you with a small ghost of a smile, making you blush and look down at your attire before clearing your throat.

“Thanks” You mumbled, bidding him a farewell before turning around and finding your way out of the workshop, clipping your lightsaber underneath your poncho and keeping it well hidden.

You arrived on a small landing platform that was stretched out into a large pot hole that went so far down, you couldn’t see the bottom. This was all the lower levels of Coruscant, vehicles of every kind drove past, carrying either locals or visitors, maybe even tourists. You skimmed over the large space to check if there were any taxi’s floating about whilst also making sure neither Merrin or Cere were looking around for you. You needed time alone.

You looked down at your wrist, a holowatch was wrapped around it and you were surprised to see it was in good condition after all you went through. Flicking through your contacts, you stuck your tongue out and frowned as you searched for the one person you needed to see most.

Clicking on his name, you waited. The sound of dialling rung out in the air around you and it took half a minute for the other end of the line to pick up. Some rustling was heard but you didn’t waste any time in getting the message across.

“I don’t have much time, save all your questions for later. Meet me at the Outlander club on Coruscant at midnight, don’t let anyone see you” You spoke clearly, checking your back to see if anyone unwelcome was listening in and realising who you were speaking to.

“I’ll be there” Cal replied.

“Good” You said sharply before hanging up and waiting on the platform for a taxi to come and pick you up. You had a long night ahead of you.

-

It was cold outside of the Outlander, busy to say the least, but waiting in the cold made you look like your date stuck you up. You made a stop at one of Coruscants designer shops and bought yourself a black mini dress and a pair of cheap silver heels. You weren’t going to waste your time on anything flashy so you went with the most basic option you could get. You were freezing though, you kept your poncho on due to the dresses lack of material.

You wish you had looked at your options before picking the most simple thing there was. In terms of comfort, the dress you were wearing had nothing towards it, instead it was for showing off and had the sole purpose to catch everyone’s attention. You felt embarrassed as strangers walked past you, looking you up and down like a piece of fresh meat before entering the club. You watched people go by opposite from the entrance with one leg bent, heel against the wall as you held your poncho close to your shivering body. Your legs were on show and had a wet look to them due to the dampness of the area and the fact it was lightly raining. The neon lights illuminated your figure and made you vulnerable to the naked eye.

You turned your head at the sudden shift in the force around you and felt your heart squeeze in your chest, looking over in the far distance to see a flash of red hair. You lifted yourself from the wall, eager to see if it was Cal as you walked a few steps forward and leaned on your toes.

Cal emerged from the crowd of people he was hiding in and searched around to find you, gold eyes shifting from body to body as he stuffed his hands in his black trouser pockets after adjusting his black blazer. You swooned are the way he looked, noticing the all black suit he had on and noticing he took your advice in making sure no one noticed him. He blended in perfectly.

“Cal!” You yelled out to him, waving your arm in the air to catch his attention which worked immediately. His eyes snapped to yours and his face lit up like a Life Day tree, picking up his pace and eventually crashing with your body. He wasted no time and swept you completely off your feet, spinning you around and setting you back down to kiss you passionately. You smiled in the kiss as he held you tight and used one hand to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking it softly as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

“I’ve missed you” He whispered as your lips departed, pressing his head against yours and closing his eyes as you hummed in response.

“You look amazing” You said to him, leaning away and taking a step back to inspect his outfit to which he blushed and waved your comment off bashfully.

“It’s nothing, I didn’t want to be noticeable so I went for the most simple thing” He said with a shrug, taking a joking spin which made you smile and let out a soft chuckle.

“But you... wow” He gasped, eyes noticing your dress underneath your poncho. In response, You unwrapped the poncho from your shoulders so Cal could see the rest of your dress, twirling and trying not to freeze to death as the cold enveloped your top half once more. Cal breathed out a sigh of amazement.

“Wait a minute” Cal stopped and frowned when he noticed your leg. The light shone against the Alum leg and caught Cal completely off guard. Any sign of happiness to see you was replaced with anger and confusion.

“Who done this? When did this happen?” He asked eagerly, taking a step towards you again and holding your hands delicately with his.

“I had a run in with an Inquisitor, it’s nothing” You brushed off his curiosity, trying to avoid telling him the fact you stole holocrons and almost got yourself killed.

“Maker (Y/N) you could’ve been killed!” He exclaimed, huffing to himself as you rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“Not trying to sound big headed, but I’m a Jedi” You smirked, causing Cal’s frown to slip off his face and replaced with a small ghost of a smile. He nodded his head awkwardly.

“Fair point, but let’s not forget you still have much training to do” Cal offered you his arm which you gladly took without hesitation, strolling in with him into the club as your other arm held on to your poncho. You two received many looks as you walked in the Outlander, feeling the bass of the music in your feet as you walked over to a high table and stood at either side of it, facing each other with smiles on your faces.

“Of all the places I thought I’d next see you, this is not what I pictured” Cal joked, earning a giggle from you as you leaned your elbows on the table, the neckline of your dress hiking down slightly and revealing your cleavage.

“Even so, no one will find us here... it’s just me and you now” you said coyly, tapping your fingers on the surface of the table as Cal flashed you a mischievous smirk.

“Last time you said that I had you pinned down on a bed” He replied, immediately causing you to blush and look away, fighting back a chuckle as he leaned on the table and placed his hands over yours. You bit your lip and looked back up to meet Cal’s flirtatious gaze, he winked at you before a waitress approached your table with a bright smile.

“Hi folks! Welcome to Outlander, what can I get you to drink?” She said in a speaker voice, holding a tray against her chest as she looked at the both of you.

“You speak Old Corellian?” You asked her in a quieter tone, seeing her furrow her brows before managing a smirk and nodding.

“Mimmin doko” I do. She replied, earning a smile from you as you leaned up and cleared your throat.

“Ihn spelulo de Coruscant visci Fho Uhl sinioro Il Ihn spelulo de Corellisi vin Fho mi” A glass of Coruscant whiskey for the gentleman And A glass of Corellian wine for me. You said effortlessly, seeing the waitress nod as she scribbled down your order on a small holopad, smiling as she finished and nodded.

“Coming right up” She chuckled, turning around and making her way back to the bar as you turned back to Cal who had a more than shocked expression.

“Where the kriff did that come from?!” He asked in amazement, whistling to himself as he looked you up and down seductively, intrigued by what he heard.

“Corellian parents, kinda cool right?” You simpered, stroking Cal’s forearm which made him raise a brow at you in amusement.

“Cool? It’s hot as shit” He said lowly, making you laugh and tap him playfully as he leaned in close to you, your heads almost touching.

“Why’d you speak it to the waitress anyway?” Cal asked curiously, looking around to check once more if anyone was looking at either of you as you smiled and cleared your throat to pass the time.

“Hidden identity I guess, to cover up our tracks so no one knows who we are” You said.

You and Cal chatted for a bit and waited for your drinks whilst listening to the music blasting around the club, people dancing at all corners as you two blended in and looked like everyone else, normal. Cal occasionally touched your arm and intertwined his fingers with yours, knowing fine well he wouldn’t be able to do this with you around people for a long time after. The thought made him sad but you understood how he felt, the two of you were the most dangerous people in the galaxy according to the Empire and Rebellion. You were destined to destroy one another, but at this exact moment you could be with each other without anyone knowing. Now that thought was calming.

“Here’s your drinks!” The waitress from earlier returned with your order, lifting the drinks and placing them on the table effortlessly.

“Lui mia kar” Enjoy my dears. She smiled before walking away and leaving the two of you alone once more. You looked at your drink and then to Cal’s, noticing he had glowing blue whisky which made him look at it as though it was a foreign object.

“Care to tell me what you ordered for me?” Cal asked in a sultry tone, picking the whisky glass up and inspecting it before taking a chance and trying it. His lips met the rim of the glass and he tilted it up, the blue liquid reaching his mouth and making him hum as the whiskey poured on his tongue.

“Coruscant Whiskey, it’s a drink my friends and I got drunk on a lot when we all started living on Yavin” You chuckled, watching as Cal’s face twisted in different emotions. At first he was skeptical about the taste but he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

“It’s not that bad actually, pretty sweet” He commented, setting his glass down and smiling at you.

“It is, Coruscant offers sweet whiskeys but some can be a bit too sweet. Corellian wine on the other hand, any type of wine from there is perfection” You smirked, picking up your own glass and taking a sip from the ruby red liquid inside. Cal watched you closely, noticing the way you licked your lips after you finished sipping. He couldn’t stop his eyes from looking down below your neck, noticing the way your breasts were held in tight against the material of your dress. Cal took note that you weren’t wearing a bra considering the dress had extremely thin straps and would look rather strange with one on.

You noticed Cal looking and leaned your head down so you were blocking his view, earning a blush from him as he quickly looked away and took another shy sip of his whiskey, shrivelling up at the taste for a second before getting used to it once more.

“So... how goes the Inquisitor work?” You couldn’t help but ask, watching as Cal frowned and pursed his lips, it was clear the question had damaged the mood slightly.

“It’s... boring, nothing too important’s happening” He said in a more than melancholy tone, avoiding your gaze as he looked at your hands, almost as if he was studying them.

“Trilla- The second sister, she’s frantic about catching you” He added.

“Am I really causing such a stir? What’s next, Darth Vader knows about me?” You scoffed. Cal stayed quiet.

Your heart twisted when he didn’t reply, he only swallowed and looked down at his whiskey in guilt. You leaned back slightly and felt a lump growing in your throat.

“Well shit” You chuckled, not out of amusement but rather fear, just to shake the tension off your shoulders.

“Does anyone know you’re here?” You asked. Cal shook his head and returned his gaze to yours after what seemed ages. You sighed in relief.

“At least that’s something...” Your gaze shifted over to the bar which was shaped in a hollow circle in the middle of the room, many customers sat at the counter and ordered drinks of all kinds, some others were selling death sticks. You watched in interest and skimmed the room until your eyes landed on the bathrooms in the far corners of the club. You noticed couples either going in or coming out, making you blush and look away before picking up your wine and taking a few big gulps of it which made Cal’s eyes almost bulge out of his head.

“Careful! Don’t get drunk on me just yet” He scolded you playfully, bringing the base of the glass down on the table as you still kept a firm grip on the body.

“Need something to shake me up, it’s been a stressful day” You said, hinting at your leg which made Cal nod his head in an understanding manner, his eyes lingering on it for a few seconds longer before clearing his throat and reaching his hands up to his collar to loosen his tie and undo a few buttons.

You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at his pale skin underneath his shirt, you could see a muscle in his neck flex which made your heart flutter, unable to take your eyes off him. He took notice to this and smirked, walking around the small table so he was next to you and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“You know, i don’t mean to sound provocative, but I wouldn’t mind taking you somewhere more private” He said in your ear as you sipped slightly at your wine, trying not to choke on it as your face heated up and you looked at Cal with wide, surprised eyes.

“And for whatever reason would you want to do that, Mr Kestis?” You toyed, hands reaching to Cal’s tie and pulling on it to bring him closer to you, your lips inches away from each other as he let out a low chuckle and grabbed your hips.

“I’m sure you know why” He whispered, using his other hand to grab your chin and tilt it up slightly as he peered down at you with his bright golden eyes. You didn’t look away, you felt impelled to kiss him right there and then but you were around so many people. It took a lot to fight the urge off and Cal shifted around your thoughts out of curiosity, a cocky smirk growing on his face as he pulled you closer to him and smashed his lips onto yours, almost knocking the wind out of you.

At this point you didn’t care about the embarrassment of people watching, you kissed Cal back and didn’t hesitate to open your mouth and grant him access to taking it a step further. Your hands tugged on his hair and you felt his fingers dig deep into your hips, his other hand shifting from your chin to your ass which made you yelp in surprise.

“Maybe somewhere private doesn’t seem so bad” You breathed out as you separated your lips from his, feeling his hot breath tingle on your face as he pulled away and nodded his head. He was flushed in the face, licking his lips as he grabbed his whiskey glass and finished off whatever was left in it, cringing at the taste once more before grabbing your hand and taking you away from the table. You didn’t have time to finish your wine but you managed to quickly leave a few credits to pay for both of the drinks.

The air was thick as the two of you approached the entrance to the bathroom, but neither of you thought anything about what you were doing. You received strange looks from people who were nearby the bathroom, knowing fine well what you two were getting up to. You laughed as Cal looked behind his shoulder and cracked a smile, pulling you close and kissing you once more before leaning into the bathroom door and taking you with him.

You and Cal stood at the bathroom sinks beside one another, flushed with heat as you washed the sweat off your faces with water from the taps. You had messed up his suit and he ruffled your dress, the hem hiked up more than it was supposed to. You both kept replaying the events that just took place in your heads, side eyeing one another and letting out the occasional giggle which was muffled by the music outside of the bathroom.

“We should probably get back to the club, it’s starting to heat up in here” Cal said, turning to face you and reaching over to your shoulder to fix the strap of your dress. You nodded your head, clearing your throat and taking his hand so he could lead you out of the bathroom, eyes linked to yours a second longer than necessary before he turned around and started walking towards the door.

The two of you returned to your tables very suspicious looking, ordering another round of drinks and looking to one another with great blushes on your faces. You could definitely say you spent this night well.

[egoiistas]

jewel of the sun (6) - avatar

ffxiv - (ShB Emetwol - SPICY) Emet-Selch does good on his villainous promise. Continuation of 3. Scale.

ao3

“Is that what you want of me-” his foot spread her legs to a more vulnerable position “- To be the villain? To validate the part of you that wants me to leave you dissatisfied?  No, my dear, allow me to foil your plans - as villains are wont to do.”

--

Emet-Selch speaks to her with such familiarity, with a command of confidence that is commonly found across all men - spoken with little founding.

But he is no ordinary being, is he?

Bijou is still recovering from the impact with the table when he grapples her hips and flips her, legs still parted and vulnerable at his sides. His palms land heavily to encase her head in between. She can’t lie that it takes her by surprise by the sound and when he leans in close. For some reason, she’s also surprised he didn’t just thrust into her then and there - dry as Ahm Ahreng. He talks to her more instead.

“Now, tell me, Warrior, why mention the Exarch at all?”

She laughs in his face as if actually tickled, because the comment is hilarious in itself. She collects herself and speaks through a smile when she sees he actually waits for a response. “I’m aware of your dislike for him.” Bijou stares at him squarely in the eyes, entirely unconcerned by the compromising state of her pinned down by the overwhelming size of his body. “I can see your dislike written plain as day on your face when he talks. When he looks at me.”

Emet-Selch regards her like he’s slightly impressed with her answer, then he tells her why: “The expectation for honesty was abysmally low, I almost expected you to fabricate your response.”

She watches intently as his teeth bite into his glove at the free edge of his middle finger and tug it loose. “And why would I fabricate it, to spare your ego?”

“To spare yours, for one,” he says. “You see, with your heroics and gallivanting here on the First, I find it peculiar you’ve been sparing me any glances at all.”

“There’s a saying of keeping your friends close-”

“And your enemies closer, yes. What an intriguing interpretation of the expression, hero.”

“I believe you were the one who approached us.”

“You miss nothing, do you?” he taunts. “And two-”

“Two?”

Emet-Selch eliminates what little space remained between them at the apex of her thighs, leaning in. She feels his bare hand slide up her calf, touch behind her knee, and continue further into her inner thigh until the gasp is shivered out of her. “To gauge how honest your reactions to me would be, and you do not disappoint.”

For the first time in front of him, she blushes.

“Now there’s a pretty color on your cheeks. Would you like your other cheeks to match in color?” he asks as he squeezes the healthy flesh of her ass.

Bijou is left without words. In a matter of seconds, he’s lit her whole body aflame and they aren’t even undressed.

His subtle yet effective assault continues when she remains speechless. “You’ve suddenly gone silent, my dear. Let’s see if we can remedy that.” He nudges her neck to the side without resistance and just as easily angles his head to the exposed skin. “After all,” he whispers. “The banter was invigorating, wouldn’t you agree?”

The breath alone from his words takes a tremendous amount of control to contain herself. It is lost when his lips explore the taste of her. He kisses her there and she gasps. He bites her and she groans. She sighs when he licks her neck and finally fondles her breast. Her bare breast. She’s naked. They’re naked as he devours her atop the massive table in her Pendants suite.

Ascians and their magic tricks. But even if he had the clairvoyance to understand her spots behind her knee and neck, his touch feels too good. As if she’s always been meant for him to touch and explore. The static fizzing of the light lingering under her skin is quelled and placated and she pulls him closer with her legs. She grabs his chin and makes him look at her. “I only have one condition.”

He looks at her impatiently.

“No kissing on the lips.” She points an index finger to her mouth.

“Oh? But it makes it all the more tempting with lips like yours.”

Her palm to his forehead stops him as he moves in closer.

“It’s just the one.”

He frowns. “Why?”

She contemplates on telling him, even with the ridiculous reality of his growing erection hitting her in between her legs. “I fall in love easily.”

His arched eyebrows lift even higher.

“But you’d be remiss to consider it a weakness, Ascian,” she warns.

Emet-Selch approaches her face again and grabs her wrists from stopping him. He doesn’t kiss her on the lips, opting for a kiss on the cheek and tells her, “Consider me warned.” He moves away and lets her hands go. “Not - those - lips.” She can feel the smile plainly on his mouth as he kisses down her abdomen, taking no care to hide the mischief in his words. Comprehension doesn’t catch up until his head is between her legs.

She’s hardly ready.

His mouth works her lips like a man dying of thirst, eager to coax her arousal for more succor. His tongue licks and delves in between her folds, inside her, and over her clit in a pattern that leaves her moaning openly in her room. He winds her up, building up to her climax steadily but never rushing. It coils like a tightly wound spring and it tightens in her belly even worse when he introduces his long fingers - two, then three, stretching her. She finds no purchase anywhere besides palming her own head or covering her mouth to find some stability. Her foundation is far too cracked, however, and it shatters when he curves his fingers inside her. She bites her hand, hard , as she breathes through her orgasm.

There is no rest as he lifts one of her legs, ankle resting on his clavicle. He caresses the skin there with his lips as he lines himself up with her, forgoing any preamble. She hardly notices he’s been quiet since, taking advantage of her high to plunge in and feel the pulses of her walls around him, she can only guess. But she doesn’t wonder for long as her mind goes blank of any thought. She is filled with what he gives her and he gives her plenty. He thrusts into her slowly and she follows his eyes when he looks at her abdomen, crudely watching as he sees himself poking through.

She throws her head back, frustrated and confused of how much that stokes her fire while it simultaneously quells another. If his touch over her skin provided her escape, then his touch inside her eliminated any sensation of any light inside her.

She, an avatar of light, and he, a paragon of darkness - both coalescing in the most basic and primal coupling.

Emet-Selch does good on his word and does not leave her dissatisfied. She peaks around his cock so many times, she doesn’t realize when they’ve made it to her bed. By the end of it, her exhaustion threatens to take her completely.

He kisses her cheek once more and says, “If it takes kissing every part of you besides your lips, then consider it done.”

[carewyncromwell]

*sings* Cinderella...you’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella~...

Okay, some quick notes before we start. Despite the beauty of their work, painters’ palettes were actually rather limited on pigments during the Renaissance, only having three pigments more than artists did during the Middle Ages. The Moly is a magical plant that appears in Homer’s The Odyssey. Hermes gives it to Odysseus as a charm to protect him from Circe’s spells. It’s been most commonly compared to the snowdrop flower by scholars. It also is referenced in the canon Potterverse as a powerful herb that can counter enchantments.

The Willow Song appears as a motif at the end of William Shakespeare’s Othello, though it was written at least thirty years earlier. In Othello, Desdemona sings a few stanzas of it in response to her husband’s growing distance and madness -- to the audience watching the play in Shakespeare’s day, which would already know the song, its inclusion foreshadows Othello and Desdemona’s tragic ending. “No One is Alone” is from Stephen Sondheim’s well-regarded musical Into the Woods, which features Cinderella as a semi-major character -- the song is actually even partially sung by Cinderella in the show!

I edited the art for this section, as you can tell. Badeea’s painting is a modified photograph of the Chateau de Chambord in France, overlaid on top of my own drawing. (Thanks, Lunapic!) This is also my very first time drawing Badeea!! GOD, is she pretty!! I think her eyes are my favorite of all the HPHM cast.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn followed up with Andre the next morning, he was quite disappointed when he saw Carewyn wasn’t wearing the new shoes he’d made for her with her uniform. He honestly hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t be comfortable for walking in -- and honestly, Carewyn could sort of understand why. Andre had never been able to leave the palace grounds, so there no doubt were a lot of practical things he’d just never considered...such as how very flashy royal fashion was, compared to that of the common man. He was pleased with the feedback Carewyn “passed along from her cousins” for him, though -- completely unaware of the fact that all three comments were really opinions that Carewyn herself had had about the dress.

“Hmm...that is a good point,” said Andre, his hand resting on his chin. “Red is a beautiful color...but a deep blue would not only bring out your eyes, but it would also perfectly contrast your ginger hair, since blue and orange are on opposite sides of the color wheel...”

His face burst into a bright white smile. “Your cousin Iris really has an eye for colors.”

Carewyn successfully fought back a groan, even as her eyes drifted up off toward the top corner of the room.

“...Well, she has taken up embroidery as a hobby. I suppose when one spends a lot of time doing samplers, one could develop an eye for colors.”

And also create a lot of initialed handkerchiefs to conveniently drop in front of noblemen so they pick it up and return it to you.

Andre, however, reacted with some interest. “Is that so? Hmm...well, maybe when I’m working on your new pair of shoes, I could invite her over for tea so she can give me her second opinion before I give them to you.”

Carewyn had never disliked a thought more in her life that Iris having a say in what she wore -- but knowing that she shouldn’t be the one to sabotage Iris, especially when her cousin would no doubt be able to do it well enough on her own, she put on her best smile.

“...I’m sure Iris would enjoy that very much.”

Sure enough, within a week, Iris had been invited to the palace for tea with the Prince. Carewyn could only imagine how thrilled Iris, her aunt Claire, and Charles were. As for Carewyn herself, she knew it was now time to do as Charles said and stay out of Iris’s way...and so when Iris arrived, she made sure to clean the rooms in her wing of the palace in a different order and not sing so that Andre wouldn’t be able to “check in” on her with Iris in tow. She didn’t think she could stand it if Iris got to look down at her polishing the palace floors.

Her lack of singing, however, did catch Badeea’s attention. When Carewyn collided with the court painter in the hallway, she expressed some concern.

“I missed your accompaniment, while I was painting,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Carewyn felt guilty as she leaned her broom against the wall for a moment. “Oh...yes, Badeea, I’m fine. I merely...well, my cousin Iris is spending time with the Prince today, so I thought to...well, not draw focus.”

Badeea nodded in understanding. “Mm, yes...some things are meant to be background details, while others are meant to catch the eye straight away.”

Carewyn and Badeea caught the sound of Iris’s twittering, bird-like laughter echoing down the hall toward them. Not wanting to be seen when or if Iris and Andre came out into the hall themselves, Carewyn quickly picked up her broom and went around the corner -- Badeea adjusted her easel under her arm and followed.

“Say, Carewyn,” said the court painter thoughtfully, “why don’t you dress up in that nice yellow and green dress you have and come to the market with me?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I need to pick up some more carbon black and indigo for this painting I’m working on for Andre, but the man who sells those paints loves to price gauge. If you were dressed up all fancy and you slid in a reference to your family, though, he might be less likely to try to rip you off,” Badeea added with a tiny, coy smile.

Carewyn frowned, feeling a bit unsure. “I don’t know, Badeea -- I still have a lot of work to do...”

“You have the whole rest of the day to finish,” Badeea reminded her. “It would only take maybe an hour or two. And it would get you out of the palace while your cousin’s here.”

Carewyn considered the matter. Truthfully she’d been hoping to finish her work quickly so she could stow away back to the library and scan more troop deployment records...but she really did hate the thought of bumping into Andre and Iris, not just because of how much Iris would hate Carewyn getting any attention and therefore delight in tormenting her in front of the Prince in order to puff herself up, but because she didn’t want to provoke Charles’s ire unnecessarily.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go change.”

Not long later, Carewyn had put on her mother’s old dress, pinned her hair up, and joined Badeea by the front gates, and the two headed into town on foot. The sky was still rather gray -- it had been raining and thundering for the last couple of days, and there was still a lot of mud in places. Carewyn was glad she was wearing her worn brown shoes under her gown rather than the pretty heels Andre had made for her -- particularly since nobody would likely be looking at her feet.

The shopkeeper in question was indeed a bit intimidated when Carewyn offhandedly referred to “her grandfather, Charles Cromwell” -- and soon enough, Badeea had been able to skip most of the haggling she would’ve normally had to make just to get her paints at a decent price. They left the shopkeeper’s stall, several jars of paint in hand.

As fate would have it, as they walked at the market, someone else was also shopping, and at the sight of the familiar dress and mane of ginger hair, he ran up to meet them.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Badeea both looked up, to see Orion striding up to them. He once again wore his slightly-too-clean, but modest white shirt, olive breeches, and boots, and he was carried a basket full of henbane.

Carewyn’s red lips spread into a smile. “Orion...hello.”

Orion brought a hand up to his chest and offered her a short bow.

“It seems the stars favor us after all, my lady,” he said, the corners of his own lips kissed with traces of a wry smile.

Carewyn shot a quick glance at his basket and quirked an eyebrow.

“Purchasing some more incense?” she asked pointedly.

Orion’s black eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid we’ve already used up what I bought previously. Fortunately the gentleman from last time remembered my face and didn’t give me too much grief.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Carewyn glanced at Badeea to Orion and back.

“Orion, this is Badeea Ali -- she’s the Crown’s court painter. Badeea...this is Orion Freeman. He helped me retrieve my horse the other day.”

Badeea’s dark brown eyes were very bright. “Ah, yes -- KC had said that you were thrown off your horse. Thank you for helping Carewyn, sir,” she added to Orion.

“It was my pleasure,” said Orion. “What’s the subject of your next piece, if I may ask?”

“A foreboding sky and a distorted reflection,” Badeea replied.

Orion looked intrigued. “That would explain such dark shades. Who commissioned the piece?”

“The Prince,” said Badeea. “But his request was just of a view of the entire palace, from a distance -- I was simply inspired by the rainstorm that passed through a few days ago, and how the turrets of the palace looked reflected in the castle moat.” 

“I wonder how the castle of Royaume would see itself, if it had eyes,” said Orion levelly. “Would it see its beauty, or would it be the type to be critical of its flaws?”

“Hm...or would it see the beauty of its flaws?” asked Badeea.

“True,” granted Orion. “Flaws make us more human -- would that make something more beautiful, by serving as contrast to our strengths?”

“Flaws aren’t something you should simply have to accept,” said Carewyn demurely, her arms crossed. “One should strive to be better than one already is. Even if one is only human, that doesn’t mean they can’t work to be something better.”

Orion turned to her, interested. “And what would be better than being oneself, my lady?”

“Being a better version of oneself, of course,” Carewyn said, sounding matter-of-fact. “One can always be kinder, braver, stronger...more cunning, more passionate. One can always learn more, and do more, and be more.”

“Yes...but it seems like those could be crippling expectations to hold over yourself, to never be enough,” said Orion, and although his expression was very inscrutable, his lips twitched with something of a frown.

“Perfectionism is a disease that affects every artist sooner or later,” said Badeea sympathetically.

Her dark eyes flitted from Orion to Carewyn thoughtfully.

“I must be getting back to work on my painting...would you like to join us at the opposite bank, Mr. Freeman? I would be happy for some feedback on my work, before I present it to his Highness.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn for her approval -- she offered a small smile, and his lips turned up in a full smile of his own.

“I would be honored.”

So the three set about finding a less muddy spot by the castle moat, across from the palace. They found one right by a beautiful willow tree, where Carewyn very carefully lowered herself onto the grass. Badeea fetched her easel and chair, setting it up so that she had a good view of the castle. Orion looked over her incomplete work appreciatively.

“It looks like it could breathe, were it a living thing.”

“Thank you,” said Badeea. “Now then, I’ll need to concentrate while mapping out the sky, so no initiating conversation, please. These paints stay on fabric just as well as my canvas, so they won’t easily wash out. I would appreciate some accompaniment, though, Carewyn.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn curiously. Carewyn avoided his eye.

“Badeea, I don’t think -- ”

“Ah, ah,” said Badeea, holding up a gloved finger quickly, “no conversation. Accompaniment or nothing, please.”

She then set about mixing certain shades and color spotting sections of canvas.

Carewyn frowned. It was one thing to be singing while she was working herself, to pass the time, but Orion’s focus was still largely on her, and it felt weird. Still, she thought to herself, it wasn’t like she was bashful about singing in front of others, exactly -- she knew her voice was more than serviceable. There was really no harm in it. So, glancing up at the willow tree above her head, Carewyn rested her hands in the grass, leaned back, and sang.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

Her hand in her bosom, her head on her knee --

Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

‘I’m dead to all pleasure -- my true love is gone --

Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...’”

Carewyn felt Orion’s dark eyes on her at the start. Before long, though, his eyes had fluttered closed, and he sat in perfect silence. As he listened, his shoulders loosened and his expression seemed to clear of all tension or pretense, like a child peacefully falling off to sleep. Badeea painted and shaded to the sound of Carewyn’s low, melancholy singing, adding white highlights to the dark gray and black shadows to create a cloudy sky with sunlight poking through.

When Carewyn was finished with the song, Orion slowly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze again at last. His eyes were oddly hesitant, almost shy.

“Y -- ”

He hesitated. Then, his black eyes softening handsomely, he closed his mouth, and it slowly spread into a smile gentler and warmer than Carewyn had ever seen before. He clearly approved.

Carewyn smiled in return and inclined her head in a silent “thank you.”

Carewyn sang some more songs until Badeea had finally finished and Orion and the two women had to part ways so that Badeea and Carewyn could pack up the easel and finished painting and bring them inside.

The following morning, Carewyn was surprised by KC pulling her aside to hand her a packet of what looked like handwritten sheet music.

“Your friend Orion stopped by a little while ago to give this to you,” she explained.

Carewyn was taken aback.

“I reckon he must’ve hopped over the wall,” said KC, unable to fight back a laugh. “I caught him strolling through the southwest gardens. I told him I’d bring it up to you, so that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble.”

Stunned, Carewyn looked down at the sheet music, shifting the pages so she could scan each line. Her blue eyes softened, growing deeper and darker with emotion, as she read the words and notes.

“...This...this is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up at KC, unable to fully keep the awe from her face. “...You don’t think he wrote this?”

KC shook her head. “No, he said it was a song he learned when he was young, and that he tracked down the sheet music for you since he didn’t think he’d be able to properly sing it for you. I’ve never heard it either, though.”

Carewyn spent her meal times and about an hour before bed that night perusing the sheet music so she could learn the song. The following day, she felt confident enough to sing some of it while she started about cleaning the Queen’s Chambers.

“Mother isn’t here now...who knows what she’d say?

Nothing’s quite so clear now...feel you’ve lost your way?

You decide alone...but no one is alone.

You move just a finger, say the slightest word --

Something’s bound to linger...be heard...

No one acts alone...careful -- no one is alone...

People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers --

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own...thinking they’re alone...

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good.

Just remember...”

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn stopped sweeping and looked up, to see Andre striding through the opened door of the Queen’s Chambers toward her.

“An -- your Highness,” Carewyn corrected herself very quickly, after noting who’d accompanied Andre.

Just behind him in the door frame was her dark-haired cousin Iris, dressed in her best rose velvet and her own almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed with loathing at Carewyn over Andre’s shoulder.

Andre, perfectly oblivious to the silent tension between the two cousins, gave a laugh.

“Oh, Carewyn, we’re not back to that again, are we? It’s ‘Andre,’ ” he said with an indulgent smile. “I haven’t heard that song before -- did you learn it recently?”

“Ah...yes,” said Carewyn. She could feel Iris’s fierce glare burning a hole in her face over Andre’s shoulder even without looking at either of them.

“It’s really quite lovely,” said Andre. “Please, do sing the rest of it when you’re able.”

“Of course, Prince Henri.”

Carewyn was absolutely not going to call Andre by his nickname in front of Iris -- she knew how Iris would shriek her head off about it to Charles.

Andre sighed and shook his head in something like tired amusement.

“I was hoping we’d catch you on your rounds,” he said conversationally. “I’m just about finished with your new shoes! Iris said your favorite color was ash gray -- I’ve never really worked with that color before, so it’ll be a bit of a challenge -- but I’m sure I’ll find a shade that might suit you...”

Ash gray? Running with the ‘Cinderwyn’ nickname, then, are we, Iris?

Carewyn forced a smile. “...Thank you. That’s...very kind.”

Feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, she quickly rushed over to pick up her full dust pan with her other hand.

“Forgive me, I really should go and empty this -- ”

At that exact moment, Iris had strode forward, bumping Carewyn’s shoulder in just such a way that the pan was knocked backward onto Carewyn, covering her, her orange and tan dress, and the floor with all of the dust, dirt, and grime she’d swept up over the last hour.

“Oh!” said Iris in feigned surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze, however, was just as hard and unapologetic as it had been when she’d ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress at home.

“Carewyn!” said Andre, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Carewyn coughed.

“...Yes, of course,” she said, her voice very hard and stoic in the back of her throat. “It was merely an accident.”

She shot Iris a cold look as she looked over her now thoroughly ruined uniform and the dust and dirt all around her feet.

“Please, go on ahead with Iris, your Highness. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Once Iris had successfully steered the reluctant-looking Andre out of the room, Carewyn closed the door, took off her dress, and finished cleaning the room in her undergarments, so as not to spread the dust and ash around any further. Then, very carefully, she darted across the hall from the Queen’s Chambers to Andre’s, so that she could fetch the high-necked, gold-embroidered dress made out of white linen and light blue velvet he’d recently finished for her from his walk-in closet. After all, she told herself, she needed something to wear while she was getting her uniform cleaned -- and well, at least Iris would be less likely to ruin this dress, since Andre had stitched it himself.

Holding her dusty, ashen dress in a folded pile against her chest, Carewyn headed downstairs toward the laundry. On her way through the entrance hall, though, KC -- who’d just come out of the library -- ran up to walk alongside her down the hall.

“Seems your friend is back.”

Carewyn’s messy ponytail flapped over her shoulder when she looked at her in surprise. “Orion?”

KC nodded, her lips curled up in a wry smile. “I thought I saw someone hopping over the wall through the library window, just now. Shall we go investigate?”

Carewyn bit her lip, looking down at the ruined uniform in her arms.

“Let me drop this off at the laundry first,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Carewyn ran down the stairs and threw her uniform into one of the tubs to soak, before quickly doing her hair up in a simple, but slightly more presentable braided bun and hurrying back up to join KC. The two women then headed out to the gardens, only to hear something of a scuffle.

“A man with innocent intentions does not hop over castle walls,” said Bill’s voice, though it sounded much lower and harder than Carewyn was used to hearing.

“In this case, sir, I assure you, I do.”

“You will declare your true name and business at once, sir, or I shall see to it that you’re locked in irons and hauled before the King himself -- ”

“Bill!” cried Carewyn.

Bill looked up, startled. The ginger-haired castle guard had slammed Orion back-first against a tree, holding him up off the ground by his collar with one hand, but at the sight of Carewyn and KC running forward, the suspicion and righteous anger in his face dissipated instantly.

“It’s all right, Bill,” Carewyn reassured him. “He’s a friend.”

“Put him down,” said KC.

Bill looked from KC to Carewyn in confusion, before glancing at Orion warily, but he nonetheless did as they said. Once he’d lowered Orion to the ground and let go of his shirt, the dark-haired man calmly adjusted his collar and picked up a satchel that must’ve come off in the struggle off the ground.

“Thank you, Carewyn...Lady Katriona,” he said pleasantly, as if he had not just been in a loose choke hold.

KC grimaced. “Orion, I’ve saved your butt twice now -- we’ve more than gotten to the point of you calling me KC.”

Orion smiled wryly. “I’m glad of it.”

Carewyn, however, still looked a bit harried. “Orion, what were you thinking? Hopping the wall...it’s no wonder Bill thought you were up to no good!”

“Well, the gate was locked, and no one was there to greet me,” said Orion airily.

“Well, of course the palace of Royaume has very strong security,” Carewyn said exasperatedly, “the royal family lives here.”

“I must wonder how the royal family ever receives visitors, then.”

“They don’t,” said Bill rather coolly. “They invite them, and very rarely, at that. And they clearly didn’t invite you to trespass on the grounds.”

Orion was unfazed. “Well, fortunately, I wasn’t looking for such an invitation, to begin with. I merely wanted to give this to Carewyn, as a gift for Madam Ali.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a jar of unusually shiny silvery-white paint. Bill, KC and Carewyn’s eyes all were very wide as Orion handed the jar to Carewyn.

“I asked a few people where best to locate materials for paints,” he explained. “One man pointed me to a flower that grows at the border called the Moly. He made this paint himself. I don’t think any colors  like this are made and sold at the market, so I thought I would bring along one of his jars for Madam Ali, so she might use it for her next project.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes were very bright and touched as she looked up at Orion.

“Orion...it’s wonderful,” she said, her soft voice incredibly warm. “Badeea will love it.”

“You said he used the Moly?” asked KC, as she took the jar from Carewyn and looked at it. “Maybe Badeea could mix up some more paint of her own, then.”

Bill glanced at Orion with a raised eyebrow. “Or the Crown could simply buy it from the vendor who sold you that paint.”

Carewyn noticed a strange, almost skittish glint flicker through Orion’s eye.

“...I’m afraid that jar was a favor, not a purchase,” he said softly.

“I think Badeea would be fine with making her own, Bill,” Carewyn said firmly. “The Crown wouldn’t want to set aside extra money for materials anyway. It’d be a lot cheaper to make a paint like that in house than to buy it from someone else.”

Despite his frown, Bill nonetheless sighed and nodded. “...True. Charlie’s needed a new set of scratch awls for ages.”

Orion looked pleased. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Perhaps the next time you want to see Carewyn, you might figure out a way to do it that doesn’t require you scaling walls like a prowler,” said KC amusedly.

Carewyn shot KC a slightly reproachful look. Orion’s muted smile rather resembled that of a satisfied house cat.

“I’d be happy to arrange more regular meetings outside the palace, if Lady Cromwell would be open to it,” he said, his black eyes sparkling as he glanced at Carewyn.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly at him. “Once again, Mr. Freeman, you seem to have an unusual amount of freedom, if you’re able to consider allocating time just to meet me.”

Her lips then spread in a wry smile.

“Still...I can hardly sit by and let you get arrested for trespassing on my account. I have some time available late tomorrow morning, before noon. I could meet you by the gate then.”

Orion grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”