#but id like to know a few words and phrases

[littlemaple]

folks in joker out fandom, anyone have any recommendations for materials to learn simple slovene, lmk. it doesn't seem to be available on many language apps and id like to learn a little bit

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

While we're here, I just want to add an example of a good response to Harris' video.

In the first half of the video, Harris briefly mentions a creator called Lukeypoo (who now goes by Luke Stephens) who had plagiarised Harris' Bloodborne review, and his response at the time was to deny it, signal to his alt right buddies and insult Harris.

After the video came out, Luke Stephens made a post on his community page regarding it:

For those, who can't see the screenshots, it reads:

A video went up on YouTube last night that showed something I did 6 years ago in early 2017, of which I'm very ashamed. I've talked about it on stream plenty since then and try to be very open about it, but I know a lot of people haven't been watching me since 2017 or have not heard me discuss this before. I don't want to hide from my mistakes or deflect, so very plainly here's what happened:

I was just starting on YouTube and I ripped off a phenomenal video on Bloodborne. It was a fantastic video by hbomberguy and after finding it through a Reddit post I tried to take his 1.5 hour masterpiece and make my own suckier version at around 7 minutes. I copied the premise, jokes, structure, and then pretended like it was all just a coincidence that they were so similar. I was a 19 year old idiot who thought it didn't matter because "he's a bigger creator so it's fine" and "it's just the internet." When I was rightly called out for copying his video I dodged, lied, and even attacked and insulted the appearance of those holding me to account, including hbomberguy himself. I copied someone's video, in parts word-for-word, and I pretended like *I* was the victim and *they* were being unreasonable. Unbelievable. There is no question at all: I was in the wrong, fully.

Let me be very clear: I whole heartedly disown who I was back then and what I did. Politically, religiously, and even morally/ethically I was a person that I hate today. I was an extremist, a bully, a religious zealot, and above all, a prick. This event sparked a spiral in my personal life that I didn't document online, but that has led me to who I am today. Someone who tries very hard to respect my fellow creators, audience, and to uphold a high ethical standard for myself. I strive every day to be a better man for myself, my family and kids, and for the community around me. And that's why I'm writing this, because I don't think we should hide from our mistakes or pretend they didn't happen. I screwed up, big time, and I stole the hard work of an incredibly talented creator and for that I'm incredibly sorry. I was 19, hard headed, and above all arrogant and unwilling to acknowledge I had screwed up. It took a couple years after that before I could openly admit what I had actually done, and that it took that long is all the more shameful.

I don't expect a response or certainly forgiveness, but for what it's worth, I am truly sorry for everything, @hbomberguy

For the last 6 years I've been working my butt off to be someone I can be proud of being and I hope you all can see that the man I am today is not the shameful excuse of a person I was back then.

I've never watched a video or stream by Luke Stephens so I can't attest as to his content, but this is one of the best responses I've seen to any kind of accusation, and so I lean towards believing him to be a better man than he was six years.

I thinks it's important to highlight the good response/s to Harris' video, to remind ourselves that plagiarism is not such an immoral action that from which you can't redeem yourself (though in Somerton's case, I'm less sure of that) if you take accountability for your actions, and to remember that in most cases, we should give people space to grow and become better.

The swiftness and brutality of Hbomberguy’s complete evisceration of James Somerton’s career cannot be overstated.

[gold-onthe-inside]

Request (slightly nsfw): Spencer comes into work and doesn’t info dump in the briefing. The team questions him and turns out he cut his tongue on his gf’s piercing.

tongue-tied

who? spencer reid x bau!reader (no use of y/n, called cupcake by morgan) content warnings: a little making out and a little foreplay, doesn't really get past that word count: 1.6k songs: say when by the fray a/n: i really struggled balacing the line between banter and bullying for derek and spencer, but consider it early seasons where derek doesn't know where to draw the line <3

They weren't even supposed to be working today, but it's not like crises come scheduled, and who was to blame Spencer for starting his Saturday morning with a little enthusiasm?

He liked taking his time with his girlfriend (a fact that still felt unreal to him, the word itself felt so strange in his mouth), kissing every inch of her. She was like poetry. Everything about her drew Spencer to her. He took her all in - every breath, every movement, the way she arched up into him. His girlfriend. He still wasn’t entirely used to the concept, but that was what he enjoyed about this slow Saturday morning. He had time to memorise every inch, his fingers gently tracing over her skin.

His mouth trailed up to her ear, feeling her shiver, and then a jolt of pain stabbed through his tongue, catching on the back of her piercing. He let out a slight hiss, drawing back. “Ah…” Spencer’s hand lifted, gently dabbing at his tongue, the pain spreading across his mouth.

"What happened?" you asked, looking at him, concerned, tucking strands of hair behind your ear.

“Your earrings…” Spencer ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his face twisting at the lingering sting.

You tutted, sitting up. "Show me."

Spencer obeyed, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue to show her. A small bead of blood pooled in the centre, a testament to the tiny yet rather painful wound.

"Hold on, I probably have some glycerin somewhere," you said, shifting off his lap and towards her wardrobe, rummaging through a drawer.

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow at her, slightly amused despite his uncomfortable injury. “What kind of person just has glycerin laying around?”

"The kind who eats pizza too quickly when it's hot," you replied, returning with a small bottle and a cotton bud. "Open up."

Spencer’s mouth curled up in a smile, which was quickly interrupted by a brief wince as she used the soaked cotton bud to apply the glycerin. “Well, at least it’ll taste good this way…” he teased, poking his tongue back out.

You chuckled as you dabbed at the cut, and their phones rang simultaneously, making your shoulders sag.  "With that kind of unity, it must be Hotch."

Spencer grumbled slightly, reluctantly leaving the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. “I was hoping for a quiet Saturday…” he mumbled, lifting his phone. Sure enough, Hotch’s name was on the caller ID.

"Ha, no such thing," you scoffed, grabbing your own phone and answering JJ as you grabbed an outfit from your closet.

Talking hurts. In fact, everything that hits his tongue sends a sliver of sharp pain, and so he's uncharacteristically short with everyone, which raises more than a few eyebrows in the briefing.

"No statistic on that to bring up?" Emily asked, her smile teasing and even Derek's got a laugh that he's masking.

"Didn't seem relevant," he said quickly, withholding a wince, and it was like you could sense the danger of getting caught when you brought up a question to Rossi to bring attention back to the case. If only that had gotten the them off his back.

Derek cornered him in the kitchenette, smirking as he sauntered over. "What was that in there? Cat got your tongue?"

On another day, he would have launched into a story of how the phrase originated from the cat o' nine tails, and so saying it meant that you had been flogged into submission, or from the Middle Ages where it was believed that witches would allegedly steal tongues and it transferred onto the black cats that accompanied them as familiars, or that ancient Egyptians who worshipped cats would punish liars and blasphemers by feeding their tongues to cats. Instead, all he said was, "Just didn't feel like it," and continued stirring his coffee.

Derek immediately noticed the lack of a long-winded, completely off-topic, but fascinating rant. And that caught his attention. It was even more suspicious when he couldn’t even look him in the eye, instead keeping his gaze firmly on the coffee maker.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Derek pressed, moving so that he was standing just behind Reid. Derek knew from experience that, if you wanted to prevent him from making a run for it, you had to block his path before he thought to try and escape.

"This kind of behaviour is exactly what gets you in trouble with HR," Spencer pointed out, then winced, his tongue flaring with pain.

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he observed Reid’s face, noting the subtle wince. Something was definitely up. “What’s wrong with your mouth?” he asked bluntly, his eyes now drifting over his face as if they would somehow be able to glean some sort of answer from his expression.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice hitting a higher pitch, a flush colouring his cheeks.

He’s lying. “Bullshit,” Derek said bluntly, his arms folded. “Every time you open your mouth, you wince. So just tell me. What happened?”

"I just burnt my tongue, that's all," he mumbled, hoping Derek would leave it.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. It seemed like a flimsy explanation, and he wasn’t going to let this go. Spencer was hiding something. “You burnt your tongue? How?”

"O-On coffee, I forgot it was hot," he said. God, he should be better at lying than this.

Derek’s frown deepened at his answer. “And you’re sure that’s it? No other reason why your tongue would hurt when you talk?”

"What other reason would there be?" Spencer asked, sipping stale coffee.

Now they were getting somewhere. Derek couldn’t help but notice that his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. “That’s what I’m asking you, pretty boy,” Derek said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What's it matter to you anyway?" Spencer asked, trying to make his escape.

Derek moved to block his path once again, his eyes watching his friend closely. Something wasn’t right here. “It matters because you’re hurt,” Derek pointed out. “So, just be honest and tell me the truth. What really happened to your tongue?”

Spencer groaned. "I... cut it this morning..." he said, halting and hesitating.

Derek’s eyes narrowed once again at his words, instantly sceptical of his answer. “You cut your tongue?” he repeated, his tone clearly indicating that he didn’t believe him. “And how exactly did you do that?”

"Morgan," he pleaded, protesting.

Derek’s eyes remained locked, searching Spencer’s face for any hint of dishonesty or a lie. “I want the truth, Reid. How did you cut your tongue?”

Spencer's entire neck had become flushed now. "On a piercing," he muttered quietly.

Ah. Derek’s eyes grew a fraction wider, his arms now dropping to his sides as everything clicked into place. That’s why he’d been trying to avoid talking this whole time. “A piercing…” he repeated, a smirk beginning to edge onto his face. “Specifically, whose piercing?”

"Does it matter?" Spencer asked, trying to escape him again and Derek blocked him too easily.

Derek’s smirk widened as he watched Reid begin to squirm under his gaze, and it was clear that he had hit the target.

“Yeah, it does. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so reluctant to tell me, pretty boy.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and Derek’s smirk curled into a grin as he studied Spencer for a long, calculated moment. “Wait a goddamn minute. Is this Cupcake's doing?”

"No!" he squeaked.

Derek’s grin widened at his reaction, which immediately told him that he was correct. Bingo. “Oh god, it is…” he said, his tone a mixture of delight and disbelief. “It was her piercing, wasn’t it?”

"What! I never said that!" Spencer cried and his obvious fluster told Derek all he needed to know - he’d hit the mark.

“You didn’t have to say it. You just confirmed it,” Derek drawled. “You can’t hide anything from me, pretty boy. And that means you were with her this morning -” He leaned in, his grin widening a fraction more. “- weren’t you?”

"I- You can't prove anything!"

“Oh, this is priceless…” Derek was clearly enjoying this, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched Spencer begin to panic.  “So, let me get this right: you were with your girlfriend this morning - on your day off - and, somewhere along the line, you cut your tongue on her earrings.”

"You don't know it's her," Spencer tried to bluff.

“Dude, you’re blushing like a schoolboy,” Derek pointed. “And you’re being so damn defensive. Put two and two together, genius. I’m not judging, Reid, just wondering - how exactly did you slice your tongue on her earring, anyway?”

"How do you think?" Spencer muttered.

Derek smirked, his eyebrows lifting. “You’re telling me that you were making out with your new girlfriend, and you accidentally cut your tongue on her piercings?”

"I'm not telling you anything!"

Derek’s smirk just grew wider, as he could practically see the thoughts swirling through Spencer’s mind. He absolutely loved getting to him like this. “You could have just told me that it was from making out with your girlfriend, pretty boy. I’m not gonna make fun of you for that. Although, I’m impressed that you somehow managed to cut your tongue in the process…”

Spencer groaned, lowering his head in shame.

Derek chuckled in delight, thoroughly enjoying watching Spencer getting all worked up.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man,” he said, a wide grin on his face. “As long as it was a good time, a few marks here and there are worth it.”

"Can I go now?" Spencer asked, mortified.

“Yeah yeah, alright,” Derek said, still chuckling to himself as he backed off, allowing Spencer to leave. “Have fun with your girlfriend,” he teased, his tone laced with playful innuendo, watching Spencer scurry off back to his desk.

[capitanology]

Heeloo! I hope you're doing well! If it's alright can I request husband headcanons for Jing Yuan, Ratio and Gepard?? Fluff and domestic things and just how they'd be as a partner? Thank you sm for your time!✨<3

hi nonnie !! thank you for the ask, i hope i did it justice since im not rlly good at headcannons <3

jing yuan

- very proud of his spouse, would likely take any chance to interject mid-conversation just to slip in a few praises here and there regarding you even though the topic has nothing to do with you: “oh, the mission was a success? you see, my spouse-“ “you’re having lunch at the cafeteria? well, my spouse made lunch-“ “that colour is a favourite of my-“ - yeah, you get the gist - and sometimes it’s not even intentional, it's just that the thought of you exists on his mind 24/7 so slipping you into anything he did or says is as natural as breathing for him - also would be 10x clingier than before—literally would be by your side every moment of time if not for his official general duties, which he sees as unfortunate because there’s nothing more important and as dire than being with you - adding on to that, i think he loves, loves, loves spending meal times or just resting around with you; both of you don’t have to necessarily talk, but just having your presence around gives him a sense of peace that he subconsciously or intentionally searches for—looking at your pretty face just makes it all the more better <3

dr ratio

- quite attentive, whether it’s for your needs or in general - i like to think that he cares about your well-being a lot, hence he tends to emphasize on taking care of yourself; will remind you to have a better sleeping schedule, take enough breaks, to not push yourself too much that it renders you incapable of doing anything afterwards - would try to ease your burden when it comes to juggling work, but allows enough leeway as he knows both your capabilities and limits; he will offer his assistance as seeing you stressed and overwhelmed is the last thing he wants, but he doesn't want to interfere too much to the point of coddling - may come off as arrogant or rude due to the way he phrases his words/intentions, but i think he’s actually just a softie—others may not see it as much, but it can be very obvious how his demeanor would soften despite his "tough/harsh" words whenever it comes to you - definitely loves spending quality time with you; just doing work side by side, sitting in the silence of each other's company, knowing that you're not anywhere else but right next to him

gepard

- i would say he’s quite devoted - can be a bit more on the reserved side sometimes, but that’s just because his love for you can overwhelm him and he doesn’t know what to do with it except just silently stew in it - would spend his day off just lying around in bed, taking the time to take in and appreciate the little moments he has with you since it can be scarce due to his busy schedule - id like to think that he would surprise you with little gestures, sometimes as a way of expressing his regrets for not being able to be with you for some time; giving you flowers, gifting a specific item that you’ve been eyeing, getting your favourite food when he returns home from a mission - also very affectionate, although he can be quite shy lol, but he lives for being able to touch you; nothing sexual (most of the time), just being able to feel your skin on his just affirms the fact that he’s finally back home with his lovely spouse, which he has missed dearly every single day

[wriothesleysgf]

wonderland— wriothesley.

★ : wriothesley is tired of your phone ringing. he's not going to let something like that stop him having fun.

cw : riding, teasing, exhibitionism, praise, m. m-sturb-tion, spit, fem reader.

"fucking angelic," wriothesley growled, punctuating the phrase with a slap to your ass. the sound echoed around the room, combining with the grunts and groans emanating from the two colliding bodies.

you continued to ride him as best as you could, though the pace that he was attempting to set was becoming too much; the man was essentially using you like a toy at this point. what had begun as you slowly grinding on his thigh whilst he finished up some paperwork had lead to his thick cock kissing your cervix as he gripped your hips tight enough that the indents of his blunt nails were visible.

"is my pretty girl struggling? why don't i take—" he began, but was cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. he ignored it initially, letting it go to voicemail. the caller didn't leave a message, so certainly it couldn't be important, right?

wrong. after the third call, wriothesley grabbed your phone from his desk and checked the caller id. he turned the screen to face you, and before even a syllable could pass your lips he had hit the answer button. he put the phone to your ear, hinting for you to take it and answer the call.

"y- yes, monseiur neuvillette? is everything okay?" you spoke in the most professional voice that you could muster, given that wriothesley's cock was still nestled within you.

"stay quiet, princess. you don't want your boss knowing how you really spend your lunch breaks, do you?"

your raised eyebrows soon turned into a warning glare, as wriothesley picked you up from his lap and put you onto his desk. with your back flat against the hard wood, he took a moment to see exactly how messy he'd already made your sweet cunt. even just with one finger traced through your sensitive folds, and you were forced to bite your bottom lip.

"is everything okay? are you feeling unwell?" the iudex queried.

you had to use every last ounce of strength to maintain your composure. "i'm perfectly fine, it's just a little cold, that's all."

wriothesley's smirk gave you the urge to slap it off of his face. he knew precisely how to drive you crazy, and it worried you. whilst trying to maintain the conversation with your boss, he continued to tease you.

he bent down to place a kiss to your swollen clit, and the short whine that fell from your lips was almost certainly audible on the other end of this call. if he did notice, however, he didn't mention it. nor did he mention any noises you made from the subsequent kitten licks to the sensitive bud.

wriothesley was enjoying this a little too much. he decided to go all out, lining his cock up with your puffy cunt despite the wide eyes from you— it wasn't a plea not to do this, no, but rather a look of shock that he'd go so far. in fact, it was turning you on even more. the risk of being caught was exhilarating, and had your slick dripping onto the desk below you.

"oh, baby," wriothesley cooes as he slowly pushes into you. "always take me so well, 's like your cunt was made for me," he punctates the sentence by collecting a fat glob of saliva in his mouth and spitting directly onto your clit. the combination of such a lewd action with his praise filled words never failed to make you weak.

with a few more harsh thrusts into you, your phone lay forgotten about on the desk. your whimpers became more prominent, and from the look in your eyes you were bordering on overstimulation.

wriothesley removed his left glove with his teeth, throwing it aside before putting two fingers to your lips. he didn't gag you, instead slowly allowing you to suck on his digits as a way to stay quieter— how considerate. you swirled your tongue around his digits, your hands both on his wrist. soft pleas came out distorted, though from the way that your cunt intensely pulsed, wriothesley knew you were close to cumming.

"think you can stay quiet, princess?" he chuckles. you nodded sheepishly, and he removes his fingers from your mouth. "good girl."

however, that trademark smirk start to appear again.

instead of going easy on you, he immediately targets your pretty clit. a couple of taps followed by a few strokes had you writhing around. wriothesley tutted a few times, unimpressed. "he can probably hear you thrashing around on my desk, darling," he reminds you, nodding towards your phone. you assumed he'd hung up, though the quieted calls of your name made it clear that neuvillette was still on the line.

wriothesley moved you around a little, pushing your legs up into somewhat of a mating press. his goal was to keep you still enough that you couldn't shift out of his reach as your highs approached. your ankles were at his shoulders, his body pressed against your thighs. the hard, powerful thrusts continued, and you were a blubbering mess. the man took a moment to slap your tits, always finding the way that your flesh jiggled incredibly attractive. with a pinch of your stiff nipple for good measure, he returned to his attack on your swollen clit.

"go on, baby," wriothesley cooed. "you know you wanna cum for me, yeah? let me hear it, princess,"

there were tears in your eyes from the overstimulation. with his thick cock consistently grazing over all the spots that made your back arch and the gentle touches to your cunt, it didn't take too long before your nails dragged down wriothesley's back and your thighs to begin to shake. you babbled something incoherent again and before you knew it, your orgasm came crashing down on you. it triggered the man's own high, and he shot his load deep inside of you.

he leaned over you, allowing you both to be close to one another as you caught your breath. wriothesley mumbled gentle praises into your ear and carressed your cheek, wanting you to feel as safe and loved as ever.

what the two of you were unaware of, was the absolute bliss being experienced on the other end of the line too. if one were to listen closely, they would hear the esteemed iudex's heavy pants.

[vhstown]

okay okay bit random but as a british person (yes im admitting to this) who lives around people who speak like hobie brown

PLEASE STOP WRITING HOBIE'S ACCENT LIKE HE'S HARRY STYLES 😭😭😭😭

(pls read below the cut)

you do not need to add an apostrophe every 2 sounds and make his speech unreadable we know he has an accent....

use it in moderation . a few sounds omitted are fine but please. you do not need to be doing 4D chess trying to portray every little quirk of his speech

a lot of the times if you over-do the accent it doesn't even sound right when you read it out? (to me it reads like an american or northern accent usually)

trust me we know how he sounds

OKAY OKAY bit of cultural trivia if you want to use slang you're probably gonna be looking at jamaican patois slang (EDIT: MLE or multi-cultural london english is the more appropriate term for his dialect! pls check the reblogs for a better explanation of it by somebody else)

in ATSV the only thing i can remember him saying is "mandem" and he tends to use other phrases like "man" and "my guy" to refer to others he's close with

not every piece of jamaican patois slang is commonly used in MLE

MLE is predominantly found in areas like south london or camden (where hobie is from)

hobie also seems to dial down his accent when speaking to people who aren't from his universe (my reasoning anyway)

his accent is actually very subtle compared to what i've seen irl

hobie is very witty and tends to speaks fast with a lot of filler words like "yeah?" and "alright?" and you wanna focus on things like word order and structure (for example the word "I" tends to be missing a lot so "i went to the cinema" would just be "went to the cinema" etc etc)

im not the best at writing hobie either and i wish he got more screentime but focus on capturing his personality rather than his accent pls

he's a teenager from a deprived area NOT A WHITE BRITISH HEARTHROB PLEASE STOP WRI'IN 'IM LI' 'ARRY BLOODY STOILES

sincerely a brit who really loves hobie but not so much the attempts at his accent

will reblog or edit with any other thoughts i have about this id appreciate any other british people's input too

PLEASE check out the reblogs on this !!!!

[larrythefloridaman]

thought about them again. sorry. it will keep happening

dont read the nccts then rewatch season one and go back to the nccts. worst mistake i ever made. So anyway let me pepe silvia at you about crimtoinette i have an essay prepared-

wasnt joking. If it were up to me this wouldnt be a link itd be a long post on here but the drafts function is not cooperating with me <3

Various stuff i drew while this analysis was in the making:

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Whispers

as a fellow adhd creative struggling to do my work this semester, id love if you could write roman angst with him struggling with doing work and executive disfunction and the feeling of failure that comes from that. – anon

would you be able to do one of roman being autistic? he stims, rocking, flapping his hands, he vocalises when stressed or happy, he has echolalia (repeating words or phrases), etc. but he has to mask around the others, especially for long hours of the day and that's harmful in itself. only around remus and thomas (if he goes to the mindscape) he feels safe to unmask? I dunno, something angsty around that like an autistic meltdown with after the wedding fiasco and with both remus and thomas being protective over roman, soft other sides and unsympathetic patton.. I'd love to read more of thomas being protective over roman and I'm in love with remus being the protective older twin. – anon

maybe a fic where roman makes a space in the imagination for virgil (or any side that wants to) to take a second to breathe but unbeknownst to virgil he uses that space a lot – anon

Could you write Roman angst where he is cursed by the Dragon Witch or some other imagination resident and tries to hide the curse from the other sides? – monkeythefander

I think it would be really silly but also angsty if there was an anxroceit miscommunication where Roman overhears Virgil and Janus talking and he thinks that they’re bonding over their dislike of him. So of course in traditional Roman angst fashion he’s like “welp, I guess I am a horrible person after all, but at least they’re bonding” BUT what Virgil and Janus were actually bonding over is the way Roman’s being mistreated by the other sides and they’re trying to figure out how to help him. – anon

A Roman who has been taught that he will only get good things if he is useful. Can you feel my brain rot 😅 – anon

hiiiiii could I request for some creativitwins with protective remus and roman angst please?? – anon

hi! I like rewatching the sander sides incorrect quotes and I noticed even in the normal sander sides videos, thomas tries to protect roman (esp when first meeting janus) so I was wondering if you could make a fic where thomas and remus protect roman from a bunch of stuff? like thomas backing up roman in discussions, thomas and remus patching up roman after a secret meeting was held with them two (I'd love to see more of remus going absolutely apeshit for his brother and thomas joining in) and ending with some soft fluff with all of them? but it's up to you!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, ableism, bruised ego (in roman's case, quite literal)

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5397

"You're awfully careless with your tongue, boy," the Dragon Witch snarls, her fangs flecked with blood, "I wonder if you'd be so dismissive if you knew what the others thought of you." He doesn't have time to do so much as open his mouth before a blast of red light hits him square in the chest. After that, it's all he can do not to clutch his head and scream.

"I think he's getting worse."

"Oh, I know he is. Didn't you see him with Logan earlier today? Poor thing looked like he was about to burst into tears if Logan expressed so much as the vaguest amount of disappointment in him."

"He's Roman. He'll burst into tears if someone looks at him wrong in silence for a few seconds too long."

Roman whimpers. The jagged rocks dig into his back as he curls up tighter, hands cold and useless where they lie bundled against his aching chest.

***

"You're awfully careless with your tongue, boy," the Dragon Witch snarls, her fangs flecked with blood, "I wonder if you'd be so dismissive if you knew what the others thought of you."

He doesn't have time to do so much as open his mouth before a blast of red light hits him square in the chest.

After that, it's all he can do not to clutch his head and scream.

***

"Roman."

Roman's mouth snaps shut. Patton's looking at him with that smile that doesn't feel like a smile, where it's mostly teeth and tight lines and a glint in his eyes that reminds him of Remus's morningstar. He brings his hands back towards himself immediately. "Yeah?"

"I think that's enough for now, don't you?" He tilts his head. "I mean, you've been talking about—what was it? Hammerhead sharks?"

"Yeah, well, I started talking about those 'cause I think it's really interesting how many monsters are designed around the idea of—" he cuts himself off when Patton holds up a hand.

"Yes, well. You've been talking about it for close to an hour, and I think that's enough."

"O-oh."

"Yeah, kiddo. I know we've been working on you getting your thoughts out in a way that's respectful to people's ears and time, but maybe we should try that again, hm? Oh, I know you just get excited," he says when Roman's just about to mumble something along those lines, "but there are ways to be excited and still be polite, right?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, look at me when I'm talking to you. Don't tell me you've forgotten how to do that too."

Roman snaps his head up, stifling the wince at the jolt of pain that shoots through him as he makes himself make eye contact with Patton. "I—I didn't forget how to do that."

"I didn't say you did, Roman."

"Y-yeah, yes, you did. You just told me not to tell you that I've forgotten how to do that."

"No, I didn't, Roman." Patton's voice suddenly hardens, almost cracking across him like a whip. "That's not a nice thing to accuse someone of saying."

"But I heard it! I just heard it!"

Patton raises an eyebrow. "Did anyone else hear me say that?"

"Nope," Virgil says, not even looking up from his phone. Logan shakes his head, only glancing in Roman's direction before returning to the work in front of him.

"B-but I—"

"But nothing, Roman," and now there's not even a hint of false warmth left in his voice, "I thought you were doing better about this. And stop tearing at your hands, you'll hurt yourself doing that."

I wouldn't have to tear at my hands if you let me stim normally, he thinks but doesn't say because as much as he hates it, Patton's sort of correct right now.

"I think it'd be best if you went to your room for a little while, don't you?"

"…yeah."

"Good. You don't have to come down for dinner either."

His head jerks up as Patton turns to walk away. "Wh-what did you say about dinner?"

Patton doesn't turn around, but the line of his shoulders tenses. "I didn't say anything about dinner, Roman, what ever could you mean?"

"I just—I just meant—is it still okay if I come back down for dinner?"

"Why would I ever forbid you from eating dinner, Roman?"

Roman sinks out. Whenever Patton's voice gets all soft and dangerous like that, he needs to go. He goes so quickly he doesn't see Remus watching him from the top of the couch.

***

"Did you see him last week? Patton so much as waited to say something and he was stumbling all over himself to fix it like a misbehaved puppy."

"His eyes get so big and I swear to fucking god he whines."

"He actually whines?"

"Like a kicked puppy!"

"Of course he does."

Roman turns his head and bites into the plant growing next to his shoulder. Their laughs echo in his ears and he hates it, he hates it, he hates it.

***

"So I think I know what's going on—"

"Fuck!" Roman leaps off the bed and scrabbles around in the blanket, toppling over onto the floor as Remus cackles. "Don't fucking do that, Re!"

"But it's fun to scare you sometimes!"

Roman glares at him, going back to scrambling and solving his Rubik's Cube. "What do you want?"

"I wanna talk about the curse you've got hanging all over you and why the first thing you didn't do was come to me about it."

"I didn't even know it was a curse, okay? Curses don't normally hang around outside of the Imagination."

"Aside from the fact that that's bullshit, Ro—" Remus prods him with a toe— "you still didn't come to me."

"Yeah, well…" He twists the cube a little extra viciously. "Wasn't exactly in a place where I could talk about it."

Remus stops poking him immediately, quickly shimmying down to the floor and wrapping his arms tightly around Roman. The pressure's almost an instant relief, a gasp leaving his lips as his hands fall peacefully back into his lap. Remus sets his head on his shoulder. "Was it bad?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Roro."

"Wasn't your fault."

"Sympathy, not apology," Remus says quietly, scooting to get Roman's bulk between his knees so he can lean them back against the foot of the bed. "Do you at least know what it is?"

"I'm pretty sure it's some kind of thought-swap curse? Like—she said I would regret being so careless with my tongue if I knew what others were thinking, so…"

"So that sounds like she made it so you'd hear the bad things people thought about you."

"I think it's just what people think about me."

"Nope. Nuh-uh, can't be, 'cause then you'd've heard how awesome I thought your infodump about hammerhead sharks was."

Roman twists in his arms. "Really? You thought it was cool?"

"Are you kidding? I wanna go to Ollie right now and have him take us to that big coral reef near the shipwrecks so we can watch 'em swim."

"I don't really wanna go swimming right now, but maybe later?"

"Sure, Roro. Hey, let's go tell Thomas about it!"

"You sure he won't mind?"

Remus gives him a look. "Thomas loves your monster rants almost as much as I do. They're great for brainstorms even if Lolo's too stuck-up to wanna do it outside of Halloween season. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, let's go!"

Roman laughs as Remus drags him down to the living room.

***

"You know, sometimes I really do think there's something wrong with him."

"Jeez, what tipped you off?"

"No, not like that, just—you know he doesn't talk about it to anyone, right? It's like he's making it easier for himself to be hurt."

"He's Roman. He bruises like a peach no matter what he does."

"Guess they don't call him the Ego for nothing."

"Hah! Yeah, like that was gonna be a shock to anyone who's spent more than thirty consecutive seconds in the same room as him."

Bruises bloom like violets across his ribs. Breath rattles out of his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and hunkers down into the foliage. No one will look for him here, perhaps they can leave him to ache in peace for once.

***

"No, really, I think that's super cool, Roman."

Roman beams, hands flapping in excitement. Remus chuckles from where he's lounging on the floor. "See? Told you, Roro."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up."

Thomas laughs. "Are you guys gonna go see if you can find any in the Imagination?"

"I think Ollie's seen a couple near one of the shipwrecks, I'm gonna ask him."

"Let me know what you find, I don't actually think I've ever seen one not on TV before."

"Wasn't there that one in the aquarium?"

"I don't think that was a hammerhead. And it wasn't that big."

"Well, if that's what you're interested in—"

"Don't start with me, Remus."

"You're no fun sometimes, you know that?"

"I don't know what to do with him. It's like having a child that refuses to grow up."

Roman whips around so quickly he almost brains himself on the coffee table. He can hear Thomas and Remus trying to ask what's wrong. His eyes dart around the empty room. But he'd heard Patton like he was standing right there—

"Roman? Hey, buddy, what was that about?"

"You can't expect him to be perfectly behaved all the time, Patton."

He jerks around again as Logan's voice rings crystal clear in the pause. Thomas and Remus look at him strangely, but he can't see Logan either. "What's—what's going on?"

"I don't know, Roman, what's—"

"I don't expect him to be perfect! I've given up on that a long time ago. I just wish he'd behave normally for once!"

"Stop it," he whimpers, clapping his hands over his ears and rocking back and forth, "stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it—"

"Ro," Remus murmurs, his voice all whispery and low the way it is when he shortcuts through all the noise to talk to someone, "Ro, it's just me and Thomas. You're in the living room with us. You're safe. Can we help you?"

"Make them stop! Make them stop it, make them stop talking about me!"

"Who's talking about you?"

"Come on, you can't tell me you're not annoyed with him sometimes too. What does he think he is, a child? A cartoon character?"

"Roman's mannerisms are his own."

"You don't have to be polite, Logan, it's not like he can hear us right now."

"I can hear you," Roman whimpers, his hands still clutching and tearing at his hair, "I can hear you, stop it, stop it, stop it—"

All of a sudden, his mind fills with white noise. Well, it's not white noise exactly, but it's the soft and quiet burbling of the lavender pools outside the stone castle and his shoulders relax instinctively. His hands stay tangled in his hair as he pants, spittle drying on his lips. Remus's voice murmurs something else to Thomas and then there's a warm, heavy blanket draped across his lap. He keeps his eyes closed until he's no longer about to cry.

"Roman," he hears Thomas ask over the burble, "can I come give you a hug?"

He nods. Thomas's arms wrap around his waist, his chin on his shoulder and oh, Thomas is so warm…

"Lean against me, that's it, I've got you." His hand presses warmly against his still-hitching stomach. "Shh, shh, you're doing really well. We're right here. We're not going anywhere."

"I admit sometimes it's more than a little off-putting."

He winces at Logan's words, dulled as they are behind Remus's powers, and Thomas shushes him immediately, asking what it is he can do to help. He just leans wordlessly into him, tucking his chin against his chest as he tries to pull his hands from his hair.

"Hey, hey, easy." Remus's hands cover his and coax them free, slow and gentle. "Can you hold onto me instead?"

He blindly twists his hands into the tulle at the front of Remus's costume, pulling him closer until their knees are mashed together. Remus comes easily, setting his chin on Roman's other shoulder. He takes a shuddering breath, smelling the sunlight still lingering on Thomas's shirt and the damp moss smell that Remus never seems to wash out completely. He's safe. He's here in the living room.

"And it's not like he has anything to show for it that would actually be useful."

"I would feel differently if he were actually able to get any of his work done, this is true."

"Hey, hey, Roro—"

"Shh, shh, buddy," Thomas says softly as he whines and curls in on himself, "you can talk to us. What's going on?"

"I keep hearing them—I can hear them—they won't stop talking about me, they won't stop—"

"Who won't stop? What can you hear?"

"P-Patton. And Logan. They won't stop—they won't stop talking about me. They keep saying I'm horrible and that I'm a child and I'm not—I'm not doing anything but I am! I'm trying, I'm trying so hard, I'm using all the tricks they keep suggesting and it's just not working, I sit there and—and I do it and I try—I try for so long and it's like it just won't come out and I can't—I can't just do it and make it happen if it doesn't want to go—"

"Roman, they're not here right now—"

"I know they aren't here! I can still hear them!"

"Okay, I believe you." Thomas holds him a little tighter. "And they're saying…they're saying they're upset with you?"

"They're saying they h-hate me."

"I don't think they hate you, buddy—"

"They do! They don't like how I'm not always perfect and how annoying I am and how long it takes me to get work done but it's not that easy and it's not like I can't—I'm trying so hard and it's not my fault that it's been getting harder and harder recently and I can't do anything about it—"

"Roman, calm down—"

"—and it's not like I don't hate myself enough for it already!"

The room goes silent. Remus's magic disappears. Thomas's grip stutters.

"…oh, Roman…"

"I'm sorry," he gasps, curling in on himself again as the shame splits him neatly from chest to navel, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Come here," Thomas says hoarsely, "come—just come here, Roman."

***

"Whoa. This place is cool as hell, Princey." Virgil steps out of the brush onto the stone path behind Roman, looking up at the towering trees. Flowering vines carpet the cave walls, drifting back and forth in the slight breeze coming off the crystal pool's surface. "What did you make it for?"

"You."

Virgil balks. "For me?"

"Well, sort of—sorry, that came out weird. I was thinking about that conversation we had about having just a soft space to breathe in and it, uh, made me want to make something like that."

"Holy shit, Roman."

"That's—sorry, I know that's kind of weird."

"No, no! That's really sweet of you. I, uh, I like it."

Roman beams. "You do?"

"Yeah, Roman, I really do. Thanks."

"You can come here whenever you want, okay? It's—it's a good place to be by yourself."

***

"My, Roman, you're looking splendid today."

"Just tell me what the fuck you want."

It pulls Janus up short, stopping him a few feet away. "Uh—"

"Look, we don't have to do the whole song and dance. We get it. You know I like compliments. We know I'm easily manipulated. We know you can always make me do what you want if you act like it's my idea or whatever. We get it. Just tell me what you want this time."

There's a few moments of tense silence. Then Janus clears his throat. "Roman, that's not what I meant."

"Not what you meant what? Not what you meant, you didn't think I'd figure it out? Not what you meant, you didn't think I'd call you out on it?"

"…maybe I just wanted to tell you that you looked nice today." Roman levels him with a glare so intense it actually makes him take a step backwards. "You know, you really can't pull off the whole intimidating look."

He grits his teeth to bite back the made you step back, didn't I? "Is that all you wanted?"

"If you keep acting like a brat, it might be."

"I'm not being a brat."

"I didn't say you were." His mouth curls up into a smirk. "Though, now that you mention it…"

He pinches the bridge of his nose. The only way out with Janus sometimes is through, and the more he gets himself riled up the longer Janus is going to toy with him until he breaks down and gives him exactly what he wants. "Look. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. You didn't deserve that. I'm having a bad day. I'm trying to work on the ideas, but I'm having trouble. No, I don't know why—and I'm trying all the things you guys suggested and they're not really working but I am trying them. Did you need me to do something for you?"

Janus just watches him for a long moment. Then he sighs. "I was going to ask if you'd be willing to swap dinner duty with me tomorrow."

Tomorrow. When he's already promised Patton that he'll have a talk with him in the morning. When he's already said he'll try and have everything ready for Logan by the afternoon. When he's going to have to sit through movie night without Remus because Ollie's pond needs to be cleaned and Patton already had words with them about Remus missing it, there's no way he'll let Roman miss it too.

"…yeah, I can do that. I probably won't be able to do anything fancy, though."

"That's alright. We all already lower our standards when it comes to your nights."

And that…that does it.

Roman whirls around, clutching his hands to his chest as he hustles down the hall, away, away, away from Janus and his silver tongue and his sharp words and the hurt. He shoulders past Virgil, who shouts in alarm, and doesn't stop until he reaches the door to the Imagination.

"What the fuck's wrong with him?" he hears in two-fold as he disappears through the door, one from the hallway he's just fled and the other inside, pounding against his skull.

"At this point, it might be easier to list what's not wrong with Roman."

***

"I just don't know what to do with him anymore."

"Oh, well, then we're all fucked. You knew how to handle him more than any of us ever did."

"Outside of Remus, I'm not sure that's true."

"Remus just eggs him on, that's not the same thing."

"You're right about that much."

Roman would love to say he's surprised. He really would. But hearing it like this, when he's forced to hear it for what it is, just feels like the sudden downpour at the end of the shittiest day to end all shitty days. To hear that he's never been anything more than a burden, a problem that needs to be managed, something that needs to be handled. Not someone that sometimes just needed a friend.

But…well, there's a reason he knew he could come here. Could hide among the vines, could sit with his back against the sharp rocks and cry and rock and scream and whine all he wanted without being found.

Virgil hadn't come here once since he showed him.

That really should've tipped him off sooner.

But Roman's just a stupid problem that no one knows how to deal with, so he didn't notice until he had to.

The Dragon Witch had been right.

***

"But seriously, all jokes aside, I'm getting really worried about him."

"Yeah, me too. He's stopped—I don't know exactly what it is he's stopped doing, but he's stopped doing it."

"I know…do you think we could try talking to him about it?"

"He just ran away from me when I tried to tell him he looked good, I don't know how well that's going to go."

"Okay, but did you, like, just tell him that or were you an asshole about it?"

"Virgil!"

"Janus."

"…okay, maybe I also wanted to switch dinner duty—"

"That's fucking why! It's hard enough to get Roman to believe we care about him, and then you go and do shit like that—"

"—but aside from that, I tried to ask him what was going on but then he just ran away from me. I don't—I don't know Virgil, I know he's going to be suspicious of me, but if I try and be gentle with him, that's just going to make him more freaked out."

"Yeah, but we gotta be better about it than whatever the fuck your shit show just was."

"I know."

"And we gotta figure out how to ask Remus about it."

"Ask me about what?"

"Holy fuck, Remus, don't do that."

"We're worried about Roman."

"You fucking should be, you assholes have been hounding him about shit he can't do for months."

"What do you mean, 'shit he can't do?'"

"You know, pretending he's a robot or some hell-spawn of an AI that can just churn out content whenever you fucking want him to. He's a living person, shit's hard for him sometimes too."

"No, not that—wait, Logan and Patton have been what?"

"Wait, what were you asking about?"

"Virgil—Virgil, I don't know if we should—"

"Janny, if you know something about my brother—"

"Calm down, put the tentacles away. Virgil and I were worried about how Patton keeps shutting Roman down when he tries to talk about things he's interested in, alright? Logan's worried too, he's—he's been trying to keep Patton distracted so he doesn't jump all over Roman."

"And the fact that Princey's been avoiding all of us more."

"But we didn't know about that, Remus, we swear."

"Princey told me he's been having trouble, okay? That's why I've been avoiding the Imagination recently, it's your guys's space, figured it'd be easier if I wasn't in there too."

"Is Roman okay?"

"No. He's really not."

"What can we do?"

"Remus! There you are, thank goodness—"

"Logan?"

"What's going on?"

"Why are you all wet?"

"I was in the Imagination and the wolf came and found me."

"The what?"

"Oh, fuck."

"Wait, no, go back, what wolf?"

"He's one of the twins's creatures—"

"He's not ours by any sense of the word and we're gonna have this conversation while we're running!"

"Will someone explain to me what's going on?"

"Logan, show me where—"

"Right this way—"

"Janus, I swear to god if you don't tell me what's going on—"

"I'll do it while we're running, like Remus said, now go!"

***

A low growl wakes him.

He stirs, still too cold, still too fragile, and a warm puff of breath soothes the worst of his aching limbs. He opens his eyes to see the muzzle in front of him. Jaws the size of him open to reveal long white fangs, a tongue a deeper red than the sort that flows through his veins, eyes several feet away yet still far too close as the wolf laps delicately at his beaten hands. With shaking fingers, he reaches out and touches the warm fur.

The wolf closes his mouth with another soft growl. His nose nudges gently at his sternum—though how gentle can a wolf the size of a house be?—and pulls away, silently asking if he can stand. He staggers to his feet. As he does, he tries to steady himself on the sharp wall and cuts one of his hands. The wolf growls, and suddenly his hand is between his jaws.

He freezes, and yet all that happens is the lapping of a massive tongue as the wolf cleans away the blood.

Several creatures in the Imagination are entities in and of themselves. They are capable of great feats that no normal creation should be and operate outside the rules the twins abide by. As such, it is not of great shock when Roman feels the curse energy begin to fade away, but it is with such a tenderness that his knees grow weak and he sinks down to the floor.

There is no condemnation in the wolf's gaze, for he knows Roman far too well, but there is a silent question.

"I couldn't," he croaks, "I couldn't. I—I just couldn't."

One of his fangs just touches the edge of his finger.

"I don't know. Didn't I—didn't I deserve it?"

Another growl, louder this time. It vibrates up his arm and into his chest and leaves such a burst of shame that he, forgetting who it is that holds his hand, tries to pull away but he's held fast. The wolf licks his hand again, soothing him, but does not let him go.

"It's so hard—it's so hard, I'm just so tired."

Jaws part, his hand is freed, now cleaned of blood. The wolf lays his head down in front of him, ears flattened, and nudges Roman's leg with his nose. Roman lays his hand there, trembling, and he blows a warm breath over him.

"…you went to Remus?" The wolf blinks slowly. "I…I don't know if I'm ready to see them yet. What if they—what if they're mean to me again?"

He winces at how much a child that makes him sound like, but the wolf only blinks again. There's a low thud from the entrance to the cavern and he glances over to see that his tail has completely covered the opening in the rock wall. The wolf will not let them in unless he believes they will not hurt Roman, and it is only that knowledge that gives him the strength to tell the wolf to move his tail aside.

***

He's sitting at the edge of the water when he hears them coming. He turns just in time to have Remus barrel into him, knocking him over with the force of hug.

"Oh, little one," he hears Logan say over the sound of his own tears, "I'm so sorry, Remus explained everything, I'm so sorry—I never meant any of it, not like that—I was only frustrated—"

"We don't hate you, sweetie," Janus says next, crouching in the sand, "we never hated you, you're not a burden—"

"Shh, shh…" Remus puts his mouth next to Roman's ear and fills his head with the soft sound of Ollie's squeaks and whistles. "That's it…that's it, Roro, it's all okay. You're okay, you're gonna be okay."

"Guys, give them a little bit of space, Roman just got un-cursed."

Shuffling in the sand. Roman looks up to see them all giving him varying looks of concern—Virgil at least tries to make a grimacing smile—oh, he's still crying—

"Ro, focus on me. Just on me, it's okay, let me squish you back into your body."

"You—you came, you came 'cause you cared?"

"Of course we came 'cause we care, Roro, that's why the wolf came and got us. Well—why he got Lolo."

"L-Logan?"

"Yes, little one." Logan inches forward just enough to card his hand through Roman's hair. "I was—I was worried, looking for you—Patton had told me you'd stormed off in a huff earlier and I knew that couldn't have been the whole story—"

"What?"

A look of confusion crosses his face before it softens. "Oh, Roman, I've never meant for you to think I only assume the worst of you…no, little one, I knew if you were upset then there had to be something more going on…and then you weren't in any of your normal spots and then the wolf came…oh, Roman…"

For he's still crying. He's still crying.

"R-Re—"

"Right here, Roro. Right. Here."

"I really didn't mean to make you so upset," Janus whispers next, "I'm sorry, little prince, forget about dinner. Don't worry about anything except making yourself happy for a little while, alright?"

"You don't—you don't hate my dinners, right?"

"What? No, sweetie, never!" Janus looks aghast at the thought. "Why would you believe that?"

"You said—you said you have to lower your standards when I cook."

"You said what?"

"Janus!"

"No—no, I didn't—I was going to tease you, sweetie, I didn't mean it—that's why I didn't say it, because I knew it wasn't the right time—oh, Roman, no."

"I'm gonna punch you in the face," Remus says solemnly, despite Roman's protests, "no, he knows he earned it."

"It's okay, Roman. It's just like the bitch slap you gifted me, he does this a lot."

"You'd think you'd do less punch-worthy things."

"Can't help it sometimes."

Virgil snorts. "You absolutely can, though. That's the thing. Don't listen to him, Roman, he's full of shit."

"Except when he's telling you that you look good."

"Except then."

Roman laughs. It's not really a laugh, it's a gross and sniffly thing that sounds like a dying goose, but it's meant to be a laugh and their faces light up like it's the best laugh ever. Maybe it is. He doesn't really know right now.

"Hey," Remus stage-whispers, "I think they'd really like to come see the hammerhead sharks with us."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was super cool hearing you talk about them," Virgil says and Logan nods in agreement, "we're down to come if that's cool."

"Wait, what's this about sharks?"

"Oh, right, you weren't there. Guess Roman's just gonna have to explain it to you too," Virgil says with an exaggerated sigh and a wink.

"W-what about Patton?"

"Oh, Pat-Pat's currently having a talk with Thomas about things," Remus says offhandedly as he squeezes Roman tighter. "They'll be busy for a while yet."

"…you guys really wanna come see the sharks?"

"Yeah, Roro."

"Yes, please."

"I'm in."

"Sounds fun!"

***

At the next meeting, Roman proposes an aquarium visit.

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[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

whenever talk about level of autism (1/2/3) and support need labels (low/mid/high), see bunch people say how they don’t like levels because can’t be described by single number or single word, and how if someone want know what they need help with, just ask, disabled people know their needs!

by all means, allowed feel this way for self! this post not way say you must like autism levels or support need labels for self.

and yes! ableism & infantization like assume all disabled people not able know self, so it sensitive topic for many, and true that many disabled people do know own self & needs & disability & limits.

but do notice pattern: often, people who say this, more likely comparatively less language & communication struggle, comparatively less intellectual & cognitive struggle, and able be somewhat independent—people who can know and explain their needs in timely manner—which become problem when they go beyond talk about self and try speak for all autistic (or I/DD, or disabled) people. become problem when say “levels/support needs labels useless and gloss over details and ableist, just ask disabled people themselves we can answer for self.”

(human experience complex. no one number/word/phrase/label can perfectly explain all experience. this include levels, support needs, but also diagnoses like autism.)

here only some! reasons why some autistic people cannot explain struggle & what need help with, why need quick short easy remember word like autism level & support needs labels & severity (but other I/DD may feel similar, but wide and am not entire know don’t want generalize. people with dementia and similar may also feel similar) :

1. cannot communicate all

autism impact social communication ability. may not able explain all complex need and how exactly help. may not have language and word for all. may only able say few words. may only able know few words. may not have functional communication. may not have any word communication.

2. cognitive struggle, cannot remember all, cannot understand all

may be too often confused or overwhelm or brain not clear to explain. may not able know what specific need help with, just “need help.” maybe not remember all thing need help with. may not remember need explain. may not able understand need help. may not understand need explain need help.

3. too much, or take too long explain, too private for random internet, but need something

“level 3” “high support need” may not tell you what exactly need, but definitely tell you “will need a LOT more help than most people, need especially watch out for.” because “autism” not specific enough.

mid/high support need, level 2/3, moderate/severe, often struggle with so much and need help on so much, even if able perfect communicate & cognitive, actual explain can take very long, even hours or more and only touch basic. many half joke about name what don’t need help with faster.

during time sensitive emergencies, or “you don’t need all my medical info but you need know” situations, or “no time/space need be short & sweet summary” situations: ambulance, medical ID, lanyard, ER, quick medical intake paperwork, be/about be called police on, be see as suspicious / act “weird.” all no time/space/ability say anything more than few words.

even outside that. it personal medical info. some don’t want name all. for some, say all bring out many emotions and trauma, like embarrassed or ashamed or hopeless.

why do you say autistic instead list all autism symptoms everytime? same reason why many people use & need autism levels and support needs labels.

4. specific for so called “outdated” autism severity: not all able change language. not all want change language. not everywhere have levels. for some, severity most accurate describe how autism symptoms impact.

so, no, not all autistic people, not all disabled people able know & explain self! not all able answer for self! some may only able use quick summary words like autism levels & support needs & severity, some none at all. some need others help explain, some need lanyard or other visual ID for everyone see explanation because we autism visible and everyone already see.

remember us

[notimetoparty]

Can I get an idea of how the plagued sillies habe their life cycle?

Like grub to pupa to full blown pest bozo

And its ok to make ocs right?? Id love to make a lil grub of my own..... I LOVE THIS AU RAAAA

i imagine they'd be grubs for a while. at least 2 years before they pupate... but they learn basic words/phrases and also get biiiig before they finally pupate. big fat grubbies. lots of biting too they are little teethers. they will absolutely fuck up anything they consider edible which is basically all the same stuff pest considers edible LOL especially wood (sorry mark you will get bit)

i don't think the pupation lasts too long. some months at most. but this is like. their most vulnerable bc they can't really get away if something goes after them. gotta protect those little things even more than normal

after that they're basically just normal toddlers! gotta raise them like you would any normal kid! just uh. you know. with an extra set of arms. and also a need to bite and eat everything. more so depending on the personality haha. especially since the few we're following for this au are hybrids (and, by extension, POOB'S kids), so they are a HANDFUL

ofc idk i'm not solid on all of this so take it with a grain of salt. also apparently canonically pest's mandibles shed like deer antlers so at a certain age they'd need to deal with that too which would probably make the poor kids panic the first time their fucking mandibles (the 'horns') fall off HEJDNDNDF

also yea that's fine have fun :] -flint

[tossball-stick]

heyy i saw your latest post about john's aromantic trutherism and i didn't exactly understand what you mean by that... could you explain? i too don't think he is actually in love with abigail if that's what you were saying...?

hiii!!! 1: thank you for asking about this im excited to write and analyze him in this way

2: plsplspls get the idea outta ur head that aromantic people cant love. noooo i couldnt have been misunderstood more. i wanna clarify that i do think john loves abigail. i just dont think that love is all that romantically motivated and ive got a few reasons to believe so.

3: uhhhh uhhh this ended up being like 2.5k words of analysis on john im sorry. no one on tumblr has asked me my thoughts about him before so this is the first time im talking about a lot of the stuff here and theres so much ive thought about johns character and its all messy and intertwined. itll be a little all over the place. i am deeply sorry.

okay. first reason? hes otherwise not much of a romantic. whether he wants to be or not, he falls flat on his face every attempt there is at being romantic with abigail (rarely do we see him be romantic with other women) is usually met with disdain, if there even are many to begin with. its rare to hear john say something pleasant about having a woman, and its rare to ever witness them having a good time together while in the gang. 

...up until the epilogue and john gets his shit together. but by that point i could argue further analysis as to how john isnt wholly himself by that point. hear me out.

john and arthur are two halves of one whole to me. its clear theres some sort of void in john after arthur dies, and he still holds the memory of arthur very very dear. he does his best to keep the memories alive, in fact, in a way to keep arthur alive. 

this starts extending to some kinda interesting parallels, though. writing and drawing in arthurs journal like he did, the hat being placed on johns head, john proposing with marys ring, the phrasing and tone of johns proposal is also shockingly familiar to arthur telling john that itd make him happy if john went to his family... after arthurs death, i find john taking on many of his traits even. he becomes more quiet and closed off, we see it even in rdr2 with arthur telking him to "knock it off with the whole being mysterious thing" or whatever. arthur claims its to act like dutch, but ill do you one better, its clearly just john idolizing his older brother and trying to be like him to be a proper man. this brings me to my next point...

the time period of rdr2!!! yayyy cowboys, the victorian era, Did u know. being a man was something you had to do in previous american and european cultures? this slowly started fading as we roll over into the 20th century, but there was a lot of emphasis placed on performing your role as a man. to be a good man, you must do xyz. otherwise, you are seen as immature, as a boy, as a child. 

throughout the entire series of red dead redemption, both 1 and 2, theres a lot of stuff pointing towards jogns struggle to Be A Man. arthur and dutch frequently refuse to let him grow up, still calling him "little john" and still treating him like hes a rowdy unruly boy that needs to learn better, not a man who should know better. hosea is the only man treating john like hes a man, and even then id say hes fairly lax with the guy. only as the story of rdr2 progresses do we see arthur start to shift his view towards john. not as a boy to stay a boy, because the gang isnt gonna be around forever. john cant keep being a boy. he needs to become a man, take care of his family. 

working off a distinctly gentleman influenced view of masculinity, johns inability to be a man is almost directly tied to his inability to be a proper romantic for his wife. compared to arthur, who is seen taken women on dates and flirting with them just to make them laugh at times. hes dancing with the ladies and helping them up and down the coaches, wagons, and horses. john like. just barely remembers to do that for abi in the epilogue. again, his failings to be a true romantic are tied with his failings as a man. 

in rdr1, this even extends to bill having the bit of dialogue, "you always were a scared little boy!" continuing to imply that john is not a man, hes never been a man. the only reason we can read him as a man Now is because we are going by arthurs definition of manhood. we can extend this further and say bill still views john as a boy because john does not live up to bills expectations of manhood- while arthur may view being a man as something chivalrous, more gentlemanly, bill clearly views masculinity as power and violence, without much to do with women. john does not live up to that, to bill, until the end.

if you read "masculinity" as "being romantic and chivalrous towards women", then, as john fails at being a romantic, he too fails at being a man. there are a lot of other ways john is immature and childish but this is a really easy one to point out if you know the time period and just how much emphasis was placed on both romanticism and manliness, and how they intertwined.

third reasoning for aro john: his family wasnt his for so much of his life. this one is another one that needs a bit of elaboration i fear.

the story of john and abigail getting together is simple enough. she joined the gang at 17 as a sex worker, slept around with some of the gang, then for one reason or another, very clearly believed that the pregnancy was johns. john runs away for a year.

in this time, we dont know a whole lot about what gang life was like without john. however, with arthurs comments about marrying abigail himself and loving her, and his close relationship with jack, i think its pretty clear arthur was the one being a man in johns place. when john left, there was a john shaped hole arthur had to fill. (i also like to think this because the potential misery of arthur having to lose his family a second time once john returns is fun to me.)

even in the story of rdr2, we see john Love and Care For his family, but its never in the same, romantic way arthur seems to involve himself in abi and jacks lives. john will defend them with his life, but when it actually comes to pulling himself up by his bootstraps and being a father or a husband, he kinda just drags his feet and gets lost. he has to be told to reunite with his family at jacks party, despite, in my eyes, his love for jack being very clearly displayed while they were looking for him. 

this is only bolstered by the conclusion of rdr2, with john and arthur on the mountain. arthur, in all his holy parallels, like jesus passing the virgin mary off to john the beloved, arthur tells john it would make him very happy if [john] went to be with his family and left. arthur is passing his family off onto john, the same as jesus passed his family onto saint john. (this one hits harder if you know the rest of the "arthur is jesus" parallels and symbolism but i feel like those would be more impactful as a web weave, and i cant make one right now haha. most obvious one i can think of to support this though is arthur being a scapegoat, dying for the gangs sins.) remember these points they are the most important and will come back later.

reason number four: "but javier-!" shhhhshshsh lemme talk. yes. john is infinitely more intimate with javier than abigail. however, again, we must take the time period into account.

not that far off from many disgusting redpill communities today, back in the 1800s it was typically expected for men to socialize with men and women with women. there was a certain level of bonding you only had with your wife, as well as a certain level of bonding you only had with the men who were close to you. 

i have got to grab this fandom by the shoulders and say rockstar did not make these men as affectionate as they should have been with each other, and thats completely platonically. this is taking romance out of the equation, these men considered each other brothers and family. they were all in a cult together. they would have been very close, and also very affectionate! they would confide in each other and hold each other and cry to each other. they would make gifts for each other and sing and dance together. you can at least see them all pass around beer bottles between each other.

do i think john and javier are closer than most? yes absolutely. do i think javier is in love with john in some way? yes absolutely. do i think its romantic? ehhh maybe. do i think john loves javier? yes absolutely. do i think its romantic? ....noo not really. their whole dynamic reads as one sided through and through to me. even if they ever got together im sure they were quickly apart again, and i doubt the relationship would have been fulfilling in the ways javier would want, leaving him longing still.

the "ive always loved you, even now" immediately funneling into a crate being shoved onto john to knock him over can also be metaphorical- javiers love is disarming to john Because he does not know how to react to it. hes never known how to react to it. hes never known how to react to love from anyone, because "love" seems to feel so much different for everyone but him.

reason ff. fiiiiive. dear god. im sorry for this being this long: john loves. he clearly loves very hard. he was clearly wrecked by arthurs death, he would clearly crawl through hell for his family, he was clearly hurt because his love for javier eventually stabbed him in the back. however, to me, a lot of this love feels similar to the love john has for dutch, or arthur, really. its familial, its platonic, it sure as hell isnt romantic. (even if the games themselves like to joke about it being so lol.)

its just clear to me that he loves. he cant not love jack and abi after everything hes done for them. he cant not love javier after being so close for so long. but in the same vein, he cant not love dutch for the same reasons. ysee what i mean? his devotion to his wife and child feels identical to the devotion to dutch, compared to arthur, whos devotion to eliza and isaac directly went against his devotion to dutch.

much like with dutch, where john was still seen as a boy, he will ferociously do the big things for his family (saving jack, defending the ranch, tackling gangsters and robbers). he will almost always fail to do the little things that would make him a true man, though. yknow. winding down, relaxing, just working, not getting involved in fights. spending some time with his family maybe. 

he can shape up and be good, he just never does. 

and i think thats why hes so torn between leaving on his own, leaving with his family, or staying with the gang. theres no difference between romantic, platonic, or familial love for him. when arthur tells him to go be with his family and john replies "youre my brother" its not only announcing arthur as family, but i think it only reinforces that blurred line of what love is for john. "i love you the same as them, why must i leave you behind? if they are family and i love them, then you too must be family, for i love you."

point six: i hope you remembered the first few points like i told you to. you did remember right

this brings us back around to john not being a man by not being a romantic, arthurs family being passed off to him, and also john not wholly being himself later on. in the epilogue, between 1899 and 1908, we hear about how john has been unable to avoid trouble and has them on the run still. whenever abigail asks something of him, he instead goes and does what he wants. its only after she leaves him (ultimate failure of being a man) do we see him start to shape himself up again, and i would argue this shaping up increases substantially after he reunites with charles. charles sets him on the right path and reawakens that memory of arthur. i imagine being close to blackwater also helps here. id argue due to charles' apparent closeness with arthur, and then sudden closeness to john due to john being all thats left of arthur... it makes john also feel like hes all thats left of arthur. i believe after speaking with charles and thinking to himself, he decides to fulfill the one dream arthur had, seemingly, at the end: take care of the family he had lost. well, eliza and isaac are six feet in the dirt so next best option: abi and jack. 

john starts to become quieter and more in his own shell- by rdr1 hes struggling to even really ask people for help with the most basic things. he becomes a lot more of a romantic speaker. he had always used fancy words with the gang, but never with charismatic purpose in the way i feel he does in rdr1. he starts making the decisions he thinks arthur would make. as a result, the hole that arthur left behind when he died, does not get filled by john. instead it simply gets filled with whatever arthur john can muster from within himself.

id also like to bring up john being the favorite, but not the golden boy. he was the youngest and most spoiled, but he was not the one dutch turned to for just about everything. he was still living in arthurs shadow, so i imagine all of that also plays a role in johns choice to live like arthur to get his family back, to be a man. he failed at being a man by his own merits. arthur was a real man by his own merits, lets just do what we've always done and look up to our older brother about it. copy what he does. clearly hes got it all figured out, even though you know he didnt, after reading the journal. 

this all is finally bolstered by john making the choice to kill micah and repeat the VDL cycle of violence, which ruins the perfect life he made for himself. he makes another decision HE, not arthur, HE would make, and thus has to deal with the consequences. 

in conclusion: i think john loves a lot and very hard. hes passionate about these people. but in his own words towards javier that start to become readable as projection, "hes a cynic that wants to be a romantic" and "hes all passion, no love ('no love' being how he perceives it, due to the views of those around him. he loves abigail and jack, he loved arthur, though because his version of love was different than theirs, its not read as love. therefore, he has none in his own eyes)." 

all of this coupled with a detached attachment style that leaves him cold and distant leaves him being tugged along in romances he truthfully does not feel the same about. he says he does, because he loves, but he doesnt know why the love isnt the same. so, clearly, since he loves, he must want the romance. he has to perform it for love regardless of if he truly does want romance or not. if he loves, he must be a romantic, and hes failing at being a romantic, so he cant be himself. he must be someone else in order to convey his love to his family.

i hope i got everything across alright ^-^ feel free to ask questions or send more asks ive got plenty more where that came from

[bonefall]

Clanmew Expansion Pack: Deer & Co

A guide both to the Clan Culture concept of "deer" as a classification, how several species are perceived by Clan cats, as well as a glossary of Clanmew terms for their behavior.

[ID: A red deer stag stands proud next to the word, "KLEKA." Squirrelflight stands next to it, thinking the phrase, "sskif peeg-en-aayoo nomn." Roughly, "I want to eat that butt," directly, "Want: beacon-of-red stag I-will-eat"]

There are six species of "deer" (Kleka) that Clan cats see on a regular basis, five of them titanic giants that are too large to hunt as adults, and one of them just small enough to be targeted. A kleka is defined as, "a fast herbivore with long legs, ending in hard hooves."

All types of deer are big animals, with even the smallest being larger than a cat. They're most often seen in forest or open meadows, so because of this, they're typically associated with ThunderClan and WindClan.

The six species that Clan cats consider a "deer," listed with their human terms and Clanmew translation;

Red Deer (Cervus elaphus) = Aug (default) & Aayoo (stags during rut in late summer to early winter)

Fallow Deer (Dama dama) = Niaa (default) & Gruag (stags with full antlers)

Roe Deer (Capreolus capreolus) = Aeur

Muntjac (Muntiacus reevesi) = Maa'ar

Horse (Equus ferus caballus) = Ee'ee

Sheep (Ovis aries) = Baa (default) & Bing (bell wether)

"Hey hold on a minute!" You cry, "Those last two aren't deer!"

Go ahead! Try explaining that to a cat who doesn't even know what cladistics are! It eats plants, it has swiveling ears, it has long legs and hooves, and it runs fast. What else could such a creature be? KLEKA IS KLEKA.

(Note: The Chinese Water Deer and Sika Deer are also seen in England; however, not as far north as BB's modeled regions, ergo they are not represented by Base Clanmew.)

But for the sake of organization, this guide will only cover the 'true deer,' reds, fallows, roes, and muntjacs.

Before getting into specific detail about each species, first, here's a couple more general terms for various parts of these animals.

Antler = Grek Branched, pronged horns that grow on male deer, bursting from bloody velvet. Muntjacs don't grow new antlers, but they never lose their 'velvet' either. Shed ones are valued for construction projects. A doe is an antlerless (grekwaro) deer; a buck is an antlerful (grekwang) deer.

Velvet = Gawrek (Meat + Antler) The meat that sheds off a fresh antler. Has been brought to my attention that this is full of estradiol, so, this is a very useful herb for Clan cats to use for feminine hormone treatment! For the velvet texture, "qefyyn", see here.

Horn = Greksh (Antler + Shell) Seen exclusively in sheep, named for the snail shell-like shape and fact that, after death, the horns are hollow. A cow also has greksh, but this currently goes undiscovered. NOTE: A generic horn, like the spines on a hedgehog or spikes on some insects, are called "kik"

Hoof = Kopka The hard stone-claws on the end of a Klek's leg; also seen on two other special non-klek animals; hogs and cows.

Beacon = Peeg When social deer are alarmed and running away, they follow the white flashes of each other's butts. Rabbits also have a beacon in their puffy tails! Clan cats assume that a horse's strange, hairy tail is just some sort of special beacon. It can also mean "rump," as in "rump roast."

Fawn = Myaa A baby deer that hides in grass, and does not run when approached.

Yearling = Mween A baby deer that follows its mother's side, and is now able to run if chased. The offspring of sheep and horses are already Mween just few minutes after their birth, though Clan cats don't encounter them on a frequent enough basis to have unique words for them. If used in a name, feel free to translate as 'foal' or 'lamb' at your discretion.

Herd = Klokok A large group of deer, usually only seen during rut, or in the case of horses, behind fences. Mostly used in the presence of an aggressive stag of some sort who will attack a Clan cat who bothers his does.

[ID: A red deer stag and a red deer hind, with a field behind them]

We start off with the largest wild animal on this list, and the biggest creature that Clan cats see on a regular basis; the Red Deer.

The rut season is from late summer to early winter, and is the only time in the year that stags have 'antlers' which they use to fight other males for control of a herd. This is reflected in Clanmew; most of the year, all red deer are Aug, the sound of the 'bark' they use to communicate with each other.

ONLY when antlers start coming in do the stags become identified by the other term; Aayoo. Aayoo fill the forest with loud bellowing and clashing as they face off, with some Clan cats even taking the opportunity to watch these titans brawl just for entertainment.

Some Aayoo even have a distinct "Raofa" (lion mane) or "Gaofa" (cravat, tiger mane), which associates them with the legends of the Great Clans. But, eventually, the Aayoo sheds its weapons, and returns to being an Aug before the frost sets in.

They are far too large to be hunted, and most Clan cats would find it dishonorable to take their fawns if they are found hidden. They are a breathtaking and honored animal... though they do look delicious, if you ask Squirrelflight.

[ID: A fallow stag shows off in front of three does, who hold up signs with various ratings. Nightstar watches on, unimpressed.]

Up next is the deer considered the most beautiful by Clan cat standards; the Fallow Deer.

Just like reds, fallows have a "default" word for those that aren't sporting any antlers; "Niaa." The call of a fallow buck is best described in English as a 'belch,' in Clanmew, they call it "Gruag."

Their behavior is quite different from red deer; instead of one male who fights off any challengers for control of a harem, they have what we call a "lek" system. Gruag will gather in one part of the territory to fight and show off against many rivals, and the Niaa come to this place to watch and pick who they like best.

side note: this is a really rare system to see in mammals and fallow deer have been studied for how unique this behavior is

They come in lots of different colors, from white, to tawny, sometimes even being such a dark brown that they appear black. These colors are beloved, noted as if StarClan themselves like to practice painting on their coats. On top of this, they're the most numerous species of deer to see.

All of these things together gives fallow deer a reputation for being "dramatic" and "fancy" by Clan culture standards, less honorable than the powerful red deer but just as noble. However, this means that their fawns are not treated with the same careful reverence as those of reds, and snatched whenever they're found hiding.

[ID: A roe deer stands alone, menacingly, with a row of telephone poles behind it]

Roe deer act VERY differently from their larger cousins. A mostly solitary animal with only the presence of antlers and a smaller beacon marking a buck from a doe, Clanmew has only a single word for them; "Aeur." The sound of their very offputting 'alarm bark'.

Opportunists, roe deer will live just about anywhere they can find a small amount of forested cover, meaning they'll happily find room in just about any territory except WindClan's. In the Lake Territory, they're particularly fond of the places where fallows and reds don't have enough space, such as the SkyClan conifer patch.

Clan cats find them deeply unsettling. Though smaller than reds and fallows, a roe deer is still as large as three warriors stacked on top of each other. Males immediately re-grow their dagger-like horns as soon as the old ones fall out, never fully returning to the 'default' form. And, worst of all...

They have the same crepuscular behavior as cats do, active at dawn and dusk. Females typically raise two fawns and manage their own territories, much like a rogue. They even create simple nests which they sleep in every night.

The Clans try to keep away from them, unless they're truly starving. There are tales that those who don't believe in StarClan are doomed to exist as roe deer in their afterlives.

[ID: A warrior is unsettled by a barking roe deer. It says, "ssoen his ssarababa," roughly, "holy shit," directly, "stars, shit they-say"]

[ID: A muntjac walking through marshland, being stalked by Stumptail]

Probably not an animal you were expecting to see in England, huh? The Reeves' Muntjac has been an invasive problem since the 20th century, rapidly spreading across the island. Like roe deer, males have antlers while females do not, but there aren't enough differences in behavior for Clan cats to have a dedicated word for the two forms.

So, a muntjac is simply known as a "Maa'ar."

These little buggers will eat just about any plant matter, which can make them quite destructive. Bark, grass, fruits, leaves, anything. Slightly larger than a fox, their only predator is Clan cats, who consider them to be a prized quarry. Their skin creates some of the highest quality leather in all the territories, and their horns and 'tusks' are valued for decorations.

Though solitary, they can still put up a fight. Those fangs and horns aren't just for show; they can gore and kill an unwise hunter, and if that fails, they're much faster than their cutesy little loaf-shape suggests.

They're unique for many reasons, but especially in that they like wet areas. So, unlike the other types of deer, the muntjac is most often seen by ShadowClan and RiverClan. Since RiverClan doesn't have the same taste for mammalian meat that ShadowClan does, in the Lake territory, sometimes muntjac hunting rights cause conflict between the two neighbors.

[edenfenixblogs]

This is just terminology but regarding asking goyim to ID ourselves as such, may I ask if there's a specific reason you prefer that phrasing? Asking because I've previously heard that hearing someone self-describe as goyische can be a bit jarring due to Connotations from white supremacists "reclaiming" the term (scarequotes bc that's obviously not how reclamation works) so I'm wondering if you have an alternate perspective I should be taking into account or if it's just like, personal preference/not that deep.

Ah! @faggotry-enjoyer, My friend! I did not see this message from you until today! My deepest apologies!

I didn’t mean that every goy had to specifically call themselves goy. I’m just descended from Hungarian, Russian, French, and Mongolian Yiddish speakers and that’s more familiar a term to me than “gentiles.”

Personally, I’ve always found “gentiles” a little awkward as a term anyway. As I’ve stated repeatedly, goy is a fully neutral word with no positive or negative connotations. But the word “gentile” seems to have a weirdly positive connotation that I find off-putting. It seems far too close to the word “gentility” for me.

It feels like “gentile” is a person of “the gentility,” thus inherently socially, behaviorally, and aesthetically superior to non-gentiles (aka Jews). Perhaps this is just because of my relationship to Hebrew (and its use of root constructions that convey connotations in the base structure of the word) that this seems to be a term that is inherently critical of Jews in a pretty blatant way. But it always seems just…idk. Uncomfortable for me to use I guess. It feels like I’m putting myself down to elevate someone else and acknowledging their inherent superiority over me.

That said, I am in no way suggesting that this is how all Jews relate to this word. I have studied Hebrew since I was very young (I’m not a fluent speaker anymore, but I was once), and I’m a writer and love words and etymologies. It is extremely likely that I am thinking more about this than someone else would or does.

So, I say goy because it is the most neutral to me. It doesn’t convey that I’m better than a goy or that a goy is better than me.

When I said “goyim identify yourself as such,” I meant more generally, “if you’re not Jewish, please indicate that in your reblog or tags when reblogging from a Jewish person.”

And to anyone who is new to my blog, the reason I asked goyim to do this is because Jews feel very alone and hated right now and a very easy way to help us feel better is to just let us know that someone outside of our community sees and hears us. It so very often feels like we are shouting from inside a soundproof room and we can only hear and be heard by each other.

There are so very few Jews left in the world. It is simply impossible for us to survive if we advocate for ourselves alone. We need goyische voices alongside our own if we hope to be heard at all amongst those who outnumber us.

One thing about Jewish culture though, we all disagree a lot about a lot of things. Someone probably does find it offensive to self-label as a goy. Someone else probably finds it offensive to reject the idea of self-labeling as a goy.

However, by and large, I think most Jews won’t be concerned that you’re appropriating our language and culture if you are using our language to identify yourself as someone who supports our culture. Yiddish isn’t a religious language, but a cultural one. While Judaism is a closed-practice religion, Yiddish is the language of our culture in exile. It is the language we used while existing in a goyische world that was and remains hostile toward Jews.

I think, personally, that if you’re not using our language to demean us, it’s not off limits. Like, call yourself a goy! You are one! It’s not a bad thing! But, like, don’t call Jews you disagree with schmucks or something like that. And, obviously, if someone is antisemitic then I do not want them using Yiddish at all.

If someone wants to condemn our culture, then I loathe the idea of them picking out the parts they can use for their own purposes. If you reject an entire culture, you do not get access to the parts of that culture you like, imho.

So, I guess (in answer to your question) it is personal preference but is also that deep. Jewish culture is old, deep, and complex. I'd never speak for other Jews, and I'm sure plenty disagree with me on this. But I have personally never heard of a Jewish person offended that a goy calls themselves a goy. Personally, I find it endearing.

[manofthepipis]

Random question that’s answer is probably very obvious, but I’ll ask it just in case:

What kind of magic does each Addison specialize in, and what do they visually look like? I remember them being used in the big Spamton NEO fight in the last few chapters, but I was wondering if it could be a bit clarified?

Like, does Click’s magic just look like a Cursor, or is it more complex?

(Also, sorry if the question’s worded weirdly, I didn’t really know how to phrase it)

it's all good! i honestly had to go back to even remember what id written for that chapter just to regain my thoughts on their attacks lol

so i thoughtd id put a fun spin on some different types of advertising as if the addisons were enemies in the deltarune universe! their attacks are meant to be visualized in the deltarune fighting format, with bullets relating to their forms of advertising.

Clicks has a variation of cursors, based on clickable product advertisements that show up on webpages, whether that be pointer fingers or simple arrows, Banner has banner ads (which i imagined like literal fabric banners with some sort of advertising on them), Survey has poll-based advertising, which can be bullets of "most likely-least likely" (or whatever poll options they summon) being used as attacks, Sponsor is those ads that shows you sponsored items that pop up first in your search engine, and he doubles as sponsor ads in internet videos, the attacks being video shields or computerized reinterpretations of random items he's had lightners search in the past. Spam's used to be mail projectiles, but he doesn't use them anymore, with the exception of being Neo.

Like if you were in the game and had to fight an army of these particular addisons, you'd be met with a deltarune-style battle of cursors, banners, polling options, and random items from the light world's town. Maybe some coupons here and there. It'd be the reverse of spamton's battle, in where you actually have to buy things to spare them.

[perplexingluciddreams]

Hi! if is okay , can you please show what is in daily life folder ? trying to make my own but ended up just doing ADLs and wonder if there is something I am missing . Thanks!

Yes, I can show! First thing to understand, is how these two right side columns work in Supercore. When you click a folder there, most of them only changes the cells on those two columns (excluding a few, OR unless there is another link within there, to open up to a full-screen folder).

Here is how it looks at the home grid:

[Image description: Two right hand columns in Supercore 50. Full of cyan colour folders with symbols, black colour text label, and a black cut off top right corner. Order from left to right and top to bottom; daily life, leisure, chat, my news, position, places, time, feelings, topics, education, messages, spelling. End ID.]

For daily life + leisure folders, it opens to more folders within. I will put pictures, so you can see!

This is the first layer within "daily life" folder:

[Image description: More two columns of cyan folders. From left to right and top to bottom; toilet, AAC, eat & drink, accessibility, comfort, emergency, scheduling, medical, going places, travel, sleeping. The bottom right corner is a link to more. End ID.]

And this is what shows when you press "more":

[Image description: Left to right and top to bottom; dating, shopping, eating out, cooking, washing, learning, dressing, blank, job, blank, banking, blank. End ID.]

I cannot show within every single folder, but I will give examples. And if you want to see a specific one, just ask!

Here is the "sleeping" folder:

[Image description: Sleeping folder with the words; time, alarm, read, book, night, dream, pillow, hug, sleep, tired, bed. In the top right corner, there is a "phrases" folder. End ID.]

And here is inside the "phrases" folder. There is a separate phrases folder for each separate topic, with different phrases. (But some phrases is in every/almost every folder, because they are common. Like, "I need help" for example).

[Image description: Phrases folder from within the sleeping folder. It has common phrases such as "I need help", "I can do it", "I don't know". And also specific phrases relating to sleep, such as "I need to set an alarm", "please reposition me", and "good night". End ID.]

And here is the AAC folder, which I edited myself to have words I will actually use, relating to this topic. I will probably continue to edit the words inside these folders, because there is some spaces taken by words that I can easily find quickly in other places.

[Image description: Similar to the sleep folder, there is the phrases folder on the top right. The buttons are; AAC, device, word, Supercore 50, Grid 3, keyboard, sign, communicate, understand, communication, speech. End ID.]

The phrase list for the AAC folder is similar, with some same common phrases. And other specific phrases such as, "The word is not on my device", "Please add it to my device", etc.

It is quite complicated to explain every single part of how these right side columns work, but there is videos on Smartbox YouTube account that shows a lot about Supercore 50, if you want to see more! And I am happy to show more specific things, if you ask 😊👍🏻

[jadelynlace]

Learning to Walk Again⎮Ink Drinker Deleted Scene⎮Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]

Find more Ink Drinker here.

Author's Note: This takes place somewhere between Chapter Six, and Chapter Seven, and as someone who is only a provider for patients pre-hospital, this defienetly pushed me out of my comfort zone. (And was likely why it took my so long to write again.)

Content Warnings: Medical settings, Ivar being reluctant.

Word Count: 2600+ words

“Giving you love right now, Ivar, seems like a desperate act,”

It intoxicates him, lying in the cot; and having seen the abyss he’s falling towards up close, he still refuses. Floki sits on the other side of the room, painstakingly watching Ivar stare at the ceiling, at the world just beyond his window. He’s watching him waste away; pushing himself up on few occasions to readjust, but he refuses food. Refuses help. He just simply refuses.

“The only way I am leaving here, Ivar, is if you get up and escort me out,” Floki has told him, calmly. 

“Do you want my lunch?” Ivar asks dryly. Floki on shakes his head. “You’ve been here for days,” He tries.

“As have you,” Floki starts. “The only difference is, Helga has packed me food. You know how she gets,” 

“Go home to her,” Ivar grumbles.

“No,” Floki replies, and it’s firm. Reasonable. Steady—what Ivar needs right now. His eyes are still closed as he speaks, head resting back against the wall. Floki never sleeps, Ivar is sure of that. He only rests. 

“I don’t want to break up your marriage because of this. I’ve already lost Y/N,”

“You fight for what you want,” Floki simply says. “And, if you would look at any other place than outside your window, you bastard, you’d notice, she’s been in the hall,” Ivar turns his head quickly at that. But he knows, Floki never lies. 

You’re there, propped up in one of the most uncomfortable chairs you’ve ever sat in, your sweatshirt bunched into a makeshift pillow as you scroll on your phone. You’re still in your uniform, and you’ll probably stay in it until your next shift. There’s a single water bottle on the ground, and as Ivar watches you, a nurse stops at your side. She offers you something to eat and you accept it. Because she knows you’ve been here for days, too.

“Thank you, Thora,” You say softly and your throat is dry. Dry from misuse, dry from crying. Dry.

“You’re alone today,” She remarks, and takes the set next to you. Your eyes watch her, trailing from your phone to her face before dancing down to her ID badge, clipped to her scrubs by a cartoon pizza slice, complete with a smile. 

“Yeah, his brother wanted to get some sleep in a place that won’t cause him irreversible spine damage,” You hum, watching Thora split her sandwich into two pieces.

“You might want to try that too,” Thora says softly, handing you your half. “They seems really close,”

“They’re twins,” You state. “They were made that way,” You snort. “We uh, we worked his crash together,” You then tell her.

“Wow,” Thora answers. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like,”

“I couldn’t tell you, either, I haven’t—haven’t processed it yet,”

“You will in time,” She tells you. “If you don’t die from exhaustion, or spine damage first,” She teases you, and you snort.

“I didn’t get to be where I am without being determined,” You answer. “Chief didn’t raise no quitter,” And that phrase alone makes you smile. 

For a moment you wish he was here; everything makes sense with him around. Your drawing he handed you is still in your pocket, and every so often you find your fingers gravitating towards it. Like a toddler and their favorite blanket. It makes sense. Just like everything makes sense in the bay at the station. You can’t remember how many times you’ve sat on those floors, even prior to your career, just to find some piece of mind. That warmth of nostalgia from the cool touch to the concrete; and the smell—one you’ve never found anywhere else. How your home smells, only to you. A scent you could notice any moment, but it would only make sense in that one place. You’d wheel Ivar there in a heartbeat if you thought it would have the same affect on him.

“If he doesn’t start eating soon, we’ll have to place him on a feeding tube,” Thora suddenly admits. 

“I know,” You say. 

Ivar watches you converse, not able to know what you’re saying but with the expression on your face, he learns it’s nothing pleasant. You’re paler now than he remembers, there’s no color to your cheeks, you’re gaunt, you’re simple existing as he is. 

That’s the moment Ivar realizes it. If this kills him, it’s going to kill you, too. 

It’ll kill Floki.

It’ll kill Hvitserk.

It’ll kill Aiden.

It’ll kill his mother.

It’ll kill you. It’ll kill the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. 

Inhaling suddenly, a panic seeps into Ivar—as if something has grabbed him, holding him under water and his screams only bubble to the surface. Sitting up quickly he grips his bed sheets, the monitor to his side beeps rapidly to announce the anxiety and it draws Floki’s attention. It draws Thora’s attention, and with a bite of turkey in your mouth, you look up at the man, with panic etched into his features, he is staring back at you.

“Ivar?” Floki says, and even you notice that this is concerning to him. “Ivar? What’s going on?”

“I—,” And out of all the languages he can speak, none of them want to trickle off his tongue. Thora stands in anticipation and you only put your hand to slow her down.

“Leave him be,” You finally say after swallowing your bite. “Floki’s the best thing for him right now,”

“Not if he’s having a serious problem,” Thora answers, looking down at you.

“He’s not,” You reply. “I know that look,” You tell her.

“I can’t kill her,” Ivar finally says.

“Ivar…?” Floki starts.

“Y/N,” Ivar replies, as if the answer is as clear for Floki as it is for him. “I can’t kill Y/N,”

“You think this is killing her?” Floki asks. “Tell me more,” Ivar swallows thickly.

“She’s…she’s pale,” Ivar replies. Floki negates to turn to look at you, waiting for what more is to come. Ivar takes his hands to scrub the tears out of his eyes before speaking again:

“She’s in the same uniform,”

“She wears and identical uniform, Ivar. Every day,”

“No—no she washes it after work. Right after work—she’s through the door and…and it’s in the wash before anything else. I always—I always kiss her shoulder when she’s done and she said—she wants a tattoo there now because it’s so reparative. It drives me up the fucking wall too because sometimes…she just washes it alone, or I’ve done my laundry already and then she’s there, taking off her uniform,”

You watch Ivar. You watch him explain something to Floki with the intensity through his features, a passion to his words and you wonder what on earth he could be talking about.  

“The color is always brighter after the wash, and it’s always dim when she comes home from work. Like…like she’s so excited to go into the job she loves, and even though she’s drained when she comes home, she does it all again because that’s who she is,”

“Ivar,” Floki tries. 

“And it’s so dim right now, Floki—her uniform, her face, everything is so fucking dim because of me. And this is killing me, because I can hardly move and—and I keep trying to tell my legs to move but they’re ignoring me. And if this kills me, it’s going to kill her. Where will she find that color if I die, Floki?” Ivar finally cries.

Floki’s eyes water, inhaling deeply as he watches the little boy he remembers cry in front of him.

“Ivar,” Floki says. “Let’s stand up, and we’ll go from there,” 

And Ivar nods. Without even thinking about the sentence, he nods every so slightly that Floki almost misses it. 

Stunned for a moment, Floki swallows, mentally patting himself on the shoulder as he straightens. He puts a hand on Ivar’s shoulder, squeezing for a second before he abandons his bag on the chair and turns to the hallway. Opening the door and cleaning his throat he looks at both you, and Thora.

“Think you can help him stand, Y/N?” Floki asks. In all honesty, you’re quite positive you’re imagining it. “Y/N?” Floki asks again.

“Help him…help him stand?” You ask.

“Did I stutter?” Floki tries. You inhale, standing as Thora follows you. But before she can follow you into the room, Floki cuts off her path. 

“Give them a second,” He winks. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Floki asks her.

“Hi,” Ivar says to you softly.

“Hi, Ivar,” You say back to him as he finally looks up at you. “Oh, Ivar…” You trail off, taking the pad of your thumb to wipe the tear that spills. He melts into your hand at an instance, leaning against your palm as if you’re taking away every ounce of discomfort for him.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Ivar mumbles.

“What?” You ask.

“I don’t want to kill you too,” He repeats, as if it makes sense to you, like it does to him. 

“You won’t,” You try.

“If I don’t get better, I will,” He tells you and that’s when it hits you, too. 

“Then lets stand up, just you and me, yeah?” You try.

“Are you allowed to do that?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“I am a medical professional,” You say. “And they can sue me if they think otherwise. I’ll move the blanket, you don’t have to look, alright?” You tell him and Ivar nods. 

It aches Ivar as he feels you pull the sheet from his leg, relishing in the fact that he can feel it; he can feel the cold air against his skin, but he won’t look. You eyes scan his legs, still wrapped in dressings, less stitches than you remember and you gently place you hand on his thigh.

“You feel that?” You ask and Ivar nods. Your mind takes over, as if he is a patient in your care and you asses is pedal pulse, two fingers on the top of his foot and it’s strong. “Can you feel that?” You whisper and Ivar nods, still looking directly at you. Only at you. You take your knuckle against the ball of his foot, tracing from heel to toe lightly, and back down again. “How about that?” And he nods, a glimmer of a smirk to his lips at how it tickles him. “Can you move your toes for me?” You then ask him, and Ivar does—eyes still not leaving yours. He watches how your eyes water, and you recall asking him similar questions in the heat of the crash’s aftermath and how he slurred a response. 

“Can you roll your ankles at all?” You whisper. And you watch them rotate, just as you ask. You take you thumb to his nail bed, pressing against his toe to watch the capillary refill in almost perfect time. And the whole time, Ivar’s eye never leave your face. “Alright,” You squeak. “I’ll help you swing them slowly,”

“Wait,” Ivar says suddenly. “Come here,” And you obey. His hands stretch towards you, taking up your cheeks as he brushes the hair from your face, and wiping under your eyes. He pulls you in then, his lips just brushing yours and you can’t help the small cry that escapes, that’s caught between the two of you before it’s swallowed with the kiss.

“I love you,” Ivar whispers.

“I love you, too,”

“Now I’m ready,” Ivar tells you.

Your hands are nearly hot coals against his legs, as you try to be as gentle as possible with your heart rate nearly pounding in your ears. You have half a mind to stop, to pull out your phone so you can record it but you don’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Fuck, that tile is a lot colder than I thought it would be,” Ivar grumbles and it makes you laugh. “If I fall, you know you’re going to fall with me, right?”

“Gee, Ivar, I hadn’t really thought of that,” You say sarcastically and there’s a glare from his face that you don’t realize how much you have missed until that moment.

With his feet on the floor you repeat the same movements, assess, feeling, having him move his toes and his ankles and all the while Ivar won’t look at his legs. Adjusting his hospital gown, you position his hand to grip the railing, and you put your shoulder under his opposite arm. 

“Ready?” You ask.

“Not really,” Ivar admits. 

“If you think you’re going to fall, just sit back down, alright?” 

“You ever done this before?” Ivar asks, stalling.

“Only at least once a day while I’m on duty,” You answer. 

“I don’t know if I can—”

“Ivar, not today,” You state. “We’re not doing this today, we’re not doubting ourselves,” And Ivar inhales. “On three, yeah?”

“Baby—”

“Ivar,” You say sternly, catching his eyes. “You can do this. You can stand up. It’ll get you that much closer to coming home,” 

“Alright,” Ivar peeps.

“One, two…two and a half…three,” You finally say. And as you hold your breath your barrel your feet down against the ground, taking Ivar’s weight as you help to lift him. You watch the muscles in his arm tense, the veins popping into view as he pushes himself to be flat on his feet. And for a moment, time freezes, and Ivar stands. 

He stands.

“Fuck,” Ivar hisses. “It’s worse than pins and needles,” He groans. 

“Lean some of your weight on me,” You tell him. And he does. “Alright, good, now shift some back against the bed,” You then say. As Ivar follows your command you take your free arm and you reach for the walker that’s collecting dust by his bed. 

“We’re going to switch, and you’re going to push your weight through your hands against the walker, alright?”

“No—I’ll fall,” Ivar tries.

“On three, yeah?”

“Y/N,” Ivar tells you but you know better this time than to let him pull himself out of the moment. You move the device in front of him and he follows suit without argument, grunting slightly as he moves his hand from the rail to the handle. Slowly you help him bring the other hand down, catching his weight before he’s standing on his own, hands gripping the bars for dear life. 

And you laugh—in sheer shock you look at Ivar standing before you.

“Ivar!” You exclaim. “You’re standing, you’re—you’re fucking standing!”

Ivar has a look of discomfort across his face, mixing with the anguish and what feels like slight embarrassment while you reward him for what he thinks is the most basic fucking thing.

“Where do you hurt?” You ask quickly, searching his face.

“Do you want to guess?” Ivar snaps at you. His breathing rate increases as he feels his palms get sweaty and he worries he’s going to lose his balance.

“I’m right here, Ivar,” You tell him. 

“I’m standing,” He finally croaks. “I’m actually—standing,” And there’s a smile on his face. 

You move yourself to his vision, reaching through your toes to kiss his chin and you smile back at him. 

“I told you,” You whisper to him, and Ivar sees that color come back to your face.

“Where’s Floki?” Ivar asks.

“Did you really think I would go that far, eh?” Floki sings from the hallway. 

“Floki—I’m standing,” Ivar says in disbelief. “You have to call Hvitserk,” He adds.

“My phone is a bit busy right now,” Floki hums, and you notice then, where his bag sits abandoned in his chair, his phone sits just outside of it, propped up, and recording. 

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