#adulting correctly

[quinloki]

True Love

Me: *trying to decide what One Metal Poster I want with my 30% coupon.*

Also Me: *Accidentally creating a MEGA 9-Part Metal Poster of fave One Piece Characters*

My Goddamn Spouse: Okay, but when you buy that I want the coupon you're gonna get from it.

[doctorsiren]

some pun about the nick of time

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

[tovaicas]

not me thinking abt how estinien is consistently one of the most emotionally intelligent characters (at least when it comes to other people) we have yet this is constantly forgotten or minimized

[tritoch]

the realization that rielle is like probably 17-19 (per her comment about being due for the elezen growth spurt) puts an entirely new spin on that line of quests lmao particularly every time she's like sidurgu dude i am not your surrogate daughter. imagine constantly being treated like an orphaned waif child by a 26 year old man with depression and it's literally just because you're a short teenager and he met your mom one time. remarkable stuff.

[canisalbus]

giordano reminds me of one of those teachers or parents who expects a child to know everything intrinsically and never make mistakes just because they happen to be smart. like the kind of mentor to expect Way too much from a young child and is overly proud when they do succeed (no thanks to them) so much so the mentor takes their accomplishment as their own and makes it about them. i feel so bad for baby machete and the dynamic he has with giordano, its unlocking childhood trauma. even though becoming a priest and a cardinal was a doomed decision i am glad he got to accomplish something outside of him 💔

Yeah, that sounds about right. Not only were his expectations unreasonably high and punishments harsh, he was also reluctant or incapable of praising and affirming the child if they tried their best and managed to succeed in something. He was very much teaching through negative consequences (which must've contributed to Machete's neurotic and perfectionistic personality).

He was also petty and jealous for a man of his age and status, and when Machete exceeded his expectations and surpassed Giordano in the church hierarchy at a considerably young age, the latter felt bitter and resentful and tried to claim credit for his accomplishments.

[formosusiniquis]

A Steddie / Buckingham comedy of errors of sorts. It goes like this.

Robin thinks Chrissy Cunningham might be her non platonic soulmate. She's smart, a little goofy, observant, seems like a great listener, and after what the rumor mill is saying was a pretty intense summer has really come into her own. It's a shame she went straight from dating Jason to Eddie Munson.

"She said she's working on herself," Steve claims, more in tune with the gossip than she is, "pretty hypocritical of you to say guys and girls can't be friends."

Which is pretty hypocritical of him when she knows he only cares cause he's already planning his wedding to Chrissy's new boyfriend; he needs Eddie to be single otherwise he's pining away for his perfect co-babysitter for nothing.

But it doesn't matter if they are dating or if they aren't or if Chrissy Cunningham with her perfect strawberry blonde ponytail is her soulmate, because her parents keep trying to set her up with some friend of a friend. She needs to do something quick before disaster strikes.

Melissa and Richard Buckley still know how to tie one on, when the occasion strikes. They're parents now, they've settled down some. Given in to the picket fence life, keep their yard mowed so Gayle Collins down the way stops glaring. They haven't done anything really crazy since that weekend they left Robin with Minerva and went to see what that whole Woodstock thing was about. Now they mostly just stick to getting as high as they can and stargazing on the weekends that Robin is off with Steve, a sweet boy kind of a square but the brownie recipe he gave them makes the best edibles.

Melissa can tell her daughter is lonely, she notices a lot of things about Robin that she won't tell them. Richard has noticed that their dealer Eddie has started bringing a friend along with him. Eddie is a sweet boy too, raised well respects his elders something they care about now that they've become them, he is also obviously and fantastically gay. Like all the parents in Hawkins, Richard and Melissa have heard how Wayne Munson has taken in that Cunningham girl after she came back from her trip out of state. Melissa remembers being a vaguely out of control youth and knows that a trip out of state is code for one of two things, and Chrissy doesn't look like she's ever been pregnant. Chrissy seems like a girl who might like their daughter.

Steve would die before he denies Robin just about anything. She is the platonic love of his life, they nearly died together, they've come out together. He's pretty sure as long as he has Robin and his kids he'd be content for the rest of his life, romance be damned.

A sentiment Robin seems to agree with since she wants him to fake being her boyfriend. Obviously, he says yes. Steve is a good boyfriend, he's always been a good boyfriend. He's attentive, great with parents, knows when to keep the pda to a minimum but also knows when to put on a show. He used to be pretty sure that Mr. and Mrs. Buckley liked him. So he's not really sure why they pulled him aside before movie night.

"Your parents hate me."

"There isn't a parent in Hawkins who hates you."

"You mom just asked me if I didn't think it might be better if I found someone more suited to me."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's basically mom code for I think your the worst person my daughter could have brought home. If I had the choice I'd kill you so why don't you do us both a favor and fuck off."

"I don't think that's right."

"Rob, I love you but conversational nuance isn't exactly your thing."

Eddie likes his job. Sure it's technically not honest work, but who knows maybe down the line they'll legalize it. He's getting in on the ground floor, an entrepreneur. Hawkins is surprisingly pro-weed and Eddie is just fine sticking to that after this summer. His favorite customers are the old folks. Like Miss Brenda at the library or the Buckleys. He always brings Chrissy along when he goes out these days, she feels weird staying in the trailer by herself and he likes having her nearby. She puts people at ease.

Except the Buckleys, who seem strangely obsessed with her. They ask her pointed questions about Dorothy, and surely they mean an actual Dorothy, surely the nice middle aged couple aren't trying to figure out if Chrissy is queer. Sure he got some vibes off of Buckley the younger, but that was before she started dating the love of his life. Now he's starting to think his whole gaydar has gone to shit.

Chrissy, a baby gay who has just broken free of the nastiest case of comp het Eddie has ever seen, answer honestly. She doesn't know a Dorothy, is that one of Robin's band friends? How is Robin, she is so sweet. Chrissy just wishes she had more time in the day so they could see each other more. She's dating Steve right, they make just the cutest couple, don't they think?

Eddie can tell Melissa doesn't. A surprise when even Wayne likes Steve Harrington, thinks he's the bees knees. Loaned him a screwdriver or some shit when the guy was over fixing something at the Mayfield place. She smiles though and agrees that Steve is quite sweet, in a tone that Eddie is far more used to hearing used when people are talking about him than about Steve Harrington. He blinks and the next thing he knows Chrissy is agreeing for them both that dinner on Friday sounds lovely; she'll bring a dessert.

Like she's ever baked in her life.

Chrissy Cunningham has had a rough couple of months, but she's settled now. Sure, she had a breakdown so bad in Eddie's trailer that she ended up having to get professional help; but she got that help and a new support system for herself. Really, the only way life could be much better is if she were dating Robin Buckley.

Eddie likes to tease her, calls her a baby gay like she's a wobbly legged deer still figuring things out. She's had eyes on Robin since the fifth grade, when she got her hair cut short to her shoulders the first time and her teeth still had a gap before her braces went on. Steve is a great guy, she's seen him with the group of freshmen that follow him around like ducklings; she's also watching him now and he's spent most of dinner making moon eyes at Eddie instead of his girlfriend.

She doesn't understand how, Robin is a vision. Full of spit and vinegar, she is firecracker mad glaring at her parents across the table. "You really brought him here? I'm dating Steve, can you not accept that?"

A lot happens at once, Chrissy isn't entirely sure what is going on but it feels a lot like a pot boiling over, something left too long unattended.

"We aren't trying to set you up with our dealer," Mr. Buckley said. "You're not exactly his type."

"Chrissy is such a nice girl." Mrs. Buckley tries.

"You said you stopped that," Steve to Eddie, a lethal pout on his lips and downturned eyes.

"Well, I stopped with the kids," Eddie tries, "I gotta pay the bills somehow, sweetheart."

"Chrissy?" If Robin was a vision in her sharp eyed rage, she's radiant in her pink cheeked surprise.

Once the shock, surprise, and comedy wear off Chrissy thinks there will be tears. Robin's parents seem nice. They seem like the kind of parents you confide in and who hold you tight. She thinks about her mom doing something thoughtful, thinks of her quietly accepting who she is and who she loves; and when she can't do that she thinks of Wayne and Eddie and knows she'd cry once they were alone and the theater of it all was over. So she thinks she might need to make the most of her moment while it's there. "I don't want to be a homewrecker," she jokes, something she's picked up from Eddie, "but I think your boyfriend has his eyes other places."

"Boyfriend, what boyfriend?"

"They're showing Clue at The Hawk this weekend, if you want to go with me?"

Robin can't nod her head fast enough.

"Stevie, I noticed you find yourself newly single," Eddie says, sorrow so fake he should rethink his decision to go within 10 feet of the drama department. "If you could bear it, would you want to crash their date make it a double?"

Steve agrees so fast a bit of hair escapes his coif, it falls in a curl at his forehead.

Robin's parents both seem pleased, pleasant smiles that chrissy is becoming more accustomed to seeing on adults now that she resides in the Munson place. "They'll be smug about this forever," Robin confides. Her smile betrays her lack of real dismay.

Chrissy got her girl and her best friend got his boy, so she thinks it's all's well that ends well.

[tinystepsforward]

ngl it makes me want to die a little bit that it's so often trans people who feel that sex is mutable but oppression is always-forever based on asab in ways that allow them to demand that information from other trans people. like it feels fucking bad. it feels bad when it's people holding up someone who posts a lot of selfies as transition goals to a degree they have to clarify what they have or haven't done or what "direction" they're going in, it feels worse when people are out there like "caster semenya is not tma" or whatever the fuck. i am, as always, not a trans woman, but here's a sentiment echoed by many of the trans women around me who log the fuck off, quoted directly from one: "people who draw a clear line where they say that semenya or khelif are tme and then call me tma are just calling me male at this point".

like i get it. i really do. we seek community and shared experiences, and we feel betrayed when people have less in common with us than we thought they did. [*more on this later.] but that's not those people's faults and my god in the case i'm seeing play out on twitter rn this poor person did absolutely nothing to intentionally mislead people, just posted pictures of their actual kid self. who looks a lot like i did, because shockingly enough "we can always tell" doesn't fucking work for trans people either!

on the one hand i move in intersex circles which are unapologetically welcoming in cis "dyadic" people with pcos, because it serves nobody to draw a clear line where mutilation or genetics or some ineffable childhood suffering are what make somebody intersex, especially when most of us (esp in places like nz) have never been karyotyped and are being treated for symptoms without a pinned-down cause anyway. the more of us there are the stronger we are, the more pressure we can exert on a medical profession which doesn't like to consider how common outliers are, how uneasy sex is at all. and then on the other hand there's dyadic trans people on the internet who've yelled me out of spaces because a couple of traumatised incarcerated trans women i worked with as a prison abolitionist assumed i was also a trans woman and i didn't immediately tell them my entire csa-involved history of being sexed in varying ways as an infant and child and/or exactly how big my phallus was at birth or where in my junk config my urethra lives so they could decide i was tme or whatever.

returning to the * for a related but not identical thought: i think presuming shared experiences leads to some fucked shit in general! "oh we all had a radfem phase" or "oh we all were channers" no we fucking weren't and it's particularly obnoxious when me & mine are trying to build trans community locally to organise and resist the growing wave of far-right backlash against our existence, and there's just white people in there on a spectrum from "straight up being antisemitic and trying to get the n-word pass" through "handwringing about how they need to make space for people who aren't politically correct" to "handwringing about how brown people are right to be mad at them but doing shit fuckall". and then the other fucking brown people in the space are on some identity politics shit where they're like "trans joy inherently excludes those of us who could get deported" or "big city white queers are killing us by being visible instead of going stealth bc it stirs up the discourse" or whatever the fuck i've heard pulled out this year. there's a bunch of reasons i primarily organise outside of trans spaces and that's one of them. i've never felt more alone in spaces where people claim we're all the same than being left as the brownest moderator or organiser in a space full of people to whom "this is a safe trans space" apparently means they get to abdicate all other responsibilities not to lapse into presumed shared patterns that are fucking racist or otherwise alienating. i've never felt more alone than surrounded by exclusively trans people who sort people into boxes and assume everyone in those boxes has the transition goals they have. like i was on cypro until it disagreed with me to the point of endocrine crisis and now i'm on t and at both those points people were so fucking presumptive or entitled to my reasons or journey or personal relationship w my body

literally just submitted on (and was invited to consult on) the nz law commission's review of the human rights act and like. it's straight up fucked how many nz trans people fully do not comprehend that any "sex assigned at birth" type definitions fundamentally exclude migrants who have no way of proving it and many intersex people who happen to have been reassigned later or many times or never assigned at all as a baby. we can't make law with this shit and that's why we have to have symmetrical protections for all genders/sexes/expressions/presentations, bc naming and defining a protected class here often leaves the people who already are left out from those shared experiences of marginalisation out in the cold when they face violence

[kstarlitchaotics]

Those who has the network the old shows are coming back!!

[speebledorp]

colored it !!! they make me happy :D

have a bonus doodle and some closeups!!!

listed convo topics: among us, rats, soap’s hair routine, httyd, and goal keeping (got these ideas from friends lol)

okay this post is a doozy BYE BYE NOW

[cybertron-smash-or-pass]

Beast Wars Cheetor

[thedailydescent]

In Episode 4, we see Claudia tossing out her girly dresses because she wants to look more like an 18 year old:

In the scene where she's running out to meet Charlie, we see her updated wardrobe:

It's....mostly just replaced with a bunch of babygirl dresses again! Also look:

This is the same dress that Claudia threw out from before! Did Louis/Lestat just put it back, even though she wanted to dress more like a grown-up?

One of these dresses is not like the other:

This flapper dress is clearly something Claudia picked out for herself (possibly stolen off another girl?), as it looks more adult than the rest. I noticed that Claudia's red dress and fur coat is no longer there- those racist girls' comments must have got to her.

What I'm taking from these shots is that Louis and Lestat are still dressing her like a child even though she's not anymore, so the only grown-up dresses Claudia can get are ones she steals off of other women, which probably don't fit her right :/

[nessypanda-art]

This is unprecedented for me, because group chats and I don't mix very well (I get too nervous), buuuut I am vaguely tempted to join GB's discord server. I just need to know if any of my mutuals are already there, because I would feel better joining a new space with at least a few other friendly faces.

[gasterofficial]

thinking about the first time i ever got drunk on halloween of 2022 completely alone in my dorm room off of a gigantic bottle of shitty fruit wine that i literally cant drink anymore because the taste just straight up makes me wanna be sick now

[hopecomesbacktolife]

do people in English-speaking-majority countries, such as the USA, realize that often times, when those of us with non-English names are telling you how to pronounce our names, we’re already translating / altering our names into English consonant and vowel pronunciation so that when you’re shown the “correct” pronunciation it’s with sounds you can say?

like, okay so. my name, the way it’s pronounced in our language, is rounder, lighter, more lilting, than the way any English-speaking American has ever been able to say it; and while it isn’t from a tonal language, there’s a different timbre to my name in our language than when an English speaker says my name— and that’s if they’re even making the effort to use the correct vowel sounds (which is rarer than you may think 🙃).

and I even have a certain (+ significant) amount of privilege!! I’m a white person with a non-English, but European, name!! how much more of an incredibly exhausting, continually demeaning experience all of this is for POC and people with non-European, non-English names!!! like. come on!!

like, it makes a lack of effort from people who go “haha close enough!” or wish to shorten your name, give you a nickname* so as to not bother with pronunciation effort etc— it makes this double the insult; because we’re often already watering down our names for you. we’re already reducing them to equivalents, to sounds you’re familiar with. can’t you at least try to pronounce that version? or do we have to lessen ourselves even more in order for our literal names, our selves to be palatable to you?

if you don’t know how to say it, ask us!! but just, don’t decide it’s not worth the effort, please. it’s exhausting.

*note; nicknames are lovely when they’re borne out of closeness, affection, a mutually appreciated inside joke, etc etc— in fact I love some of the nicknames I have with close friends and family! — this part is specifically addressing how it’s not cute when used as a means to circumvent pronouncing my name correctly by “simplifying” it. savvy?

also this is why I use an alternate name when ordering at a restaurant lmao

[foxqueen-katarian]

Children listen to me, sometimes an adult will say a word wrong, and that's okay because sometimes an adult is very tired and has been wording all day and their mouth just does not want to properly word anymore.