#fear does not exist in this dojo

[delulu-julia]

Turtle’s S/O breaks down toward him

(Romantic, female reader.)

A/N: Yeaah, I missed angst!! Actually I did this request long ago I just didn’t like how it looked. Now I fixed it a lil so it would looked more pleasant and decided to post it (finally). Also there was a request in my box, but idk why I can’t answer at it directly, so it will be below after all the reactions as a screenshot. Enjoy!

Leonardo

It’s late. The dojo is empty. Except of you. You’ve been sitting there, under the tree, eyes unfocused, watching something non existent in the wall. No big expression on your face. You haven’t moved in a while. Leo watches from the doorway, arms crossed, pretending he isn’t hesitating.

He walks in without a word, the mats muffle his steps.

He kneels beside you, not too close, but enough to see your whole figure. And for a moment you both sit in silence, bathed in the soft hum of lair lighting.

Then quietly, he asks:

“You’ve been quiet all night. Are you okay?”

Your breath catches in your throat.

And your shoulders begin to shake.

Headcanons

Leonardo see something was wrong hours before you sat alone in the dojo. He always does.

Your posture was different. The way your eyes flickered but never truly focused. The way your laughter sounded like you were mimicking what laughter should sound like. Everything was fake as hell.

He didn’t push. Not right away. Leo is patient. He wants to believe that if you would be really bothered, you’ll come to him yourself. He doesn't want to be intrusive or annoying. He just watches.

But when you disappeared, and dinner passed without you, and the laughter of his brothers faded into static noise around him, he couldn’t stay seated. The empty seat at the table pulled harder than any mission ever had.

He finds you under the tree in the dojo, that quiet place meant for centering, for breathing… but your chest isn’t rising with any of that peace. You’re still. Stiff. Hollow.

There’s something sacred about your silence, and he treats it like a ceremony. No loud entrance. No demand. Just a quiet kneel beside you, his swordless side facing you.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. That question is too big. He just asks if you’re okay, and the moment your breath stutters, his whole body stills.

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He’s learned the difference between needing space and needing shelter.

…But the second your shoulders start to shake, not sobbing, just that trembling kind of grief that wants to stay hidden, his hand is there. Not on your back, but a palm-up between you, as an offer. If you take it, he holds it like it’s made of porcelain. Steady and quiet.

You won’t see it, but under all this wise gaze and strong hand of his, the moment he hears you sobbing, there is a huge worry rising inside him. He tries to look calm as if not feeling all this tightness in his chest. There is already bad thoughts in his mind ‘Did someone hurt her?’ or ‘Did I do something wrong?’

You whisper things like “I feel so alone” and “No one sees me” or “I’d give everything for people who wouldn’t do the same.” and Leo looked at you and exhales like it hurts to hear it.

Okay, no one touched you, it’s good… But still, you’re hurt and sad, and you need his help. He watches you, the way you cry and shake, and his grip on your hand tightened. You could read everything in his eyes that moment. Worry, empathy, sadness, understanding and love. This thought made him feel bad even more. You needed him.

He doesn’t say I understand (because he knows it won’t help) instead, he speaks gently about how he has felt that way too. The pressure. The loneliness. The endless quiet responsibility

“You don’t have to earn love by giving everything away.”

“You’re not invisible to me.”

And when your tears finally fall, he stays with you, not trying to fix it, but simply holding the moment still. Letting you break without a fear of being drowned.

Later, when you stops crying and dojo feels a little less heavy, he stays beside you, your head resting gently on his shoulder. His thumb brushing your knuckles.

He doesn’t make you promise you’re fine. He knows you’re not. Instead, he says

“Next time it gets this bad… you don’t have to sit alone. You can ask me… I’ll never say no to you”

After that night, he’ll check you differently. No more vague “You good?”. It becomes “Are you holding up?” or “Do you want me me to come to you?”

He becomes more intentional with his care. Leaving sweet treats to you, inviting you to meditate with him, silently training beside you. He hopes that doing all this will make you feel less lonely.

He wants to understand you, even the parts you barely let yourself feel. If you’ll ask him to leave, he will. If you’ll ask him to be next to you, he’ll come immediately. He needs to protect you, to make you feel safe. And seeing you in this state will make him feel like he’s doing not enough.

Raphael

Raph noticed it during training.

You were off. Slower. Distracted. And not in the “goofing off with Mikey” way, more like the “your head is somewhere far, far away” kind.

After the others clear out, Raph lingers by the punching bags, arms folded tight across his chest. You don’t leave. You just sit there on the mats, staring at the wall.

He walks over, pretending he’s annoyed.

“You gonna sit there sulking all night?”

No answer.

He squints, eyes narrowing, tone softening.

“…Hey. Look at me. What’s goin’ on?”

You glance up, eyes wet.

He curses under his breath and kneels beside you, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands.

Headcanons

Raph’s always been sharp with your mood changes, he notices things like your body language, tone, eye contact. So when you miss a block or flinch at Leo’s voice, he clocks it instantly

During training, he keeps glancing at you between moves. He hits harder than usual. His frustration is brewing. You keep being quiet, and he doesn’t know why

He doesn’t know how to help people who won’t say what’s wrong. It’s a feeling he knows too well. Maybe that’s why it kinda scares him.

When the others finally leave, he doesn’t say anything at first. Just grabs a towel. Watches you sit on the floor like you’re made of stone.

He walks over slow, posturing like he’s annoyed just to keep the vulnerability out of his throat. “You gonna sit there sulking all night?” And when you don’t answer, something in him wavers. His voice drops lower, rougher. “…Hey. Look at me. What’s goin’ on?”

And then he sees your eyes. Red. Shiny. Your lip trembling. That look he knows, the one you get when you’re trying so hard not to fall apart.

“…Shit” he mutters, instantly dropping to one knee like your pain punched him in the gut. His hands hover. He doesn’t want to touch you wrong, doesn’t want to make it worse.

You whisper something like “I’m just so tired of feeling like this. Like I’m the only one who—” And he cuts in gently:

“You’re not. You ain’t… Not anymore.”

He’s not good with soft words, but he’s good with presence, so he stays. Close. Solid. If you lean into him, he lets you. If you cry, he lets you.

He doesn’t shush you. Doesn’t tell you to stop. Just mutters things like

“I hate seein’ you like this…”

“You don’t have to be strong all the damn time, y’know?”

“You always take care of everyone else. Lemme take care of you, for once.”

His hand ends up around yours, big and calloused but warm. The grip is firm, grounding. His way of saying you’re not alone.

After the breakdown, he doesn’t make you talk more than you want. He just sits there with you, maybe puts your head on his shoulder, lets the dojo go quiet.

In the days after, he checks in way more than usual, but clumsily. Like “You eat yet?” when he means “You look tired. Are you okay today?”

…Or “You sleep at all last night?” when he means “I heard you crying in your room, and it’s killin’ me.”

He gets protective. Over-affectionate in his own way. Always hovering near, brushing your hair back without a word, standing closer when someone else talks to you.

If you bottle things up again, he notices faster. Doesn’t let you sink.

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend everything’s fine.”

You become the one person he’ll drop his guard for completely. When you hurt, he hurts too. And he’d rather punch down 100 Kraangs than see you break again, unless your tears in his presence are the only way you find peace.

And whenever you apologize for being “too much” or “weak” he snaps gently:

“You’re not weak. You’re human. You humans always think you are weak… But you, you are not. I love you for all of it, even that messy part.”

Donatello

Donnie sees you when he passes by the dojo, with a data pad. You’re usually quick to wave. Smile. Say something.

Tonight? You don’t even glance at him.

He pauses. Watches. Frowns.

He puts the pad down, walks inside slowly, like he’s entering a sacred space. You’re sitting with your arms around your knees, chin tucked down. Quiet and still.

He sits beside you but says nothing at first. Then, after a pause:

“Something’s wrong.”

Your lip trembles. You turn your face away fast, but not fast enough.

“Hey—wait—what’s—are you… are you crying?”

Headcanons

Donnie notices the shift in your energy like a change in air pressure. It’s subtle, but he’s attuned to your rhythm. The little glances, the warm “Hey, genius” the way you usually brighten his presence.

When he walks by the dojo and you don’t respond? His brain crashes a little. He stops mid-scan of a data pad, rereads the same diagnostic line three times, and doesn’t process a word.

He lingers in the doorway at first. Hoping you’ll notice him. Hoping this is just one of your quiet moods. But your stillness feels wrong. It’s not peaceful.

He sets the pad down with exaggerated care, like any sudden movement might shatter you.

Walking into the dojo feels like trespassing. The lighting hums, the shadows stretch, and you sit curled in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

He sits down slowly, keeping just enough space between you to not overwhelm you. Doesn’t speak for a full minute. Just listens. Watches. Then gently: “Something’s wrong.”

You flinch when he says it. Your body tightens. You turn away, but not before he sees it. The tears building, the ones you never let him see. His voice catches. “Wait—are you… are you crying?”

Panic floods him, but not the loud one. The helpless kind. The kind where he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, or how to fix this pain with circuits or solder.

He moves in a little closer, voice softer now, nervous but determined

“Hey, it’s okay—just, talk to me. Please?”

And when you do, when the words start to fall out, messy and trembling about feeling invisible, replaceable, like you’d give everything for people who wouldn’t do the same, he winces. Because he gets it. Too well.

He reaches out, hesitant at first, and rests a hand gently on your back, careful, warm, no pressure.

“…I don’t think you know how much you matter” he says quietly “Not just to me. To all of us. But especially… especially me.”

You cry harder. And Donnie doesn’t back away. He leans in closer, lets you bury your face in his shoulder if you need. His arms wrap around you, not tight but solid, grounding. He sways a little without realizing.

In his mind, he’s already scanning your words, filing them like sensitive data. Remember: she feels unseen. Lonely. Make sure to validate. Often. Gently.

Afterward, he doesn’t leave your side for hours. He makes you tea. He sets down every tool. Cancels every project. He quietly rewrites your place in his life. Not just someone he loves, but someone he needs to protect.

He starts being more emotionally present after. Less buried in machines, more touch, more small check-ins.

And every time you hesitate to speak up, he gently reaches for your hand and says: “You don’t have to bottle it. I’ve got the bandwidth, I swear.”

He builds a little weighted blanket for you. Says it’s “a sensory-calibrated prototype.” It’s actually just him trying to help you sleep better when the feelings get too loud.

If you ever start crying again, he no longer asks why right away. He just pulls you close and says “You don’t have to explain. I’m here.”

Michelangelo

Mikey’s jokes aren’t landing.

You’re usually the first to laugh. Loud, snorting, unfiltered. But tonight, he’s thrown out three solid puns and you haven’t even smiled.

He trails after you, expression growing more uncertain by the second, until you finally sit down at the edge of the dojo and stare blankly at the floor. Mikey watches from a few steps back.

“…Hey, sunshine? Where’d your sparkle go?”

You shake your head. He walks over, crouches in front of you, resting his chin on your knee.

“You’re kinda scaring me, y’know.”

When you sniffle, he gently bumps his forehead to yours.

“You don’t gotta fake it with me.”

You break.

Headcanons

Mikey notices something is wrong the first time his joke doesn’t affect you. He doesn’t panic immediately, just throws out another, even goofier pun. When that doesn’t work either, he tries physical comedy. Dramatic flop onto the couch. Zero smile. He pauses. Looks over. Eyes narrow.

Mikey normally brings joy, but this time… it doesn’t work. And that’s how he knows.

He starts following you, quietly at first, watching your expression. The way you’re unusually still. The way your gaze slides off people like you’re somewhere else entirely.

You sit at the edge of the dojo. Blank. Quiet. And suddenly it’s like someone turned the sound down on his world. Mikey’s heart sinks. Your silence makes the world feel so wrong.

He doesn’t joke again. He just walks over and crouches low, like a kid trying to peek under a locked door. His voice is quieter than usual, uncharacteristically gentle: “…Hey, sunshine? Where’d your sparkle go?”

You don’t answer. He doesn’t rush you. He places his chin on your knee like a tired puppy, not to cheer you up, but to make him more visible to you. To let you know he’s there.

“You’re kinda scaring me, y’know.” He says it with a little laugh, but there’s truth in it. He hates when people pretend they’re okay when they’re not. He sees it too often in his brothers.

And when you sniffle, trying to hide it, he bumps his forehead gently to yours.

That’s when it crumbles. You sob. Sharp, quiet, sudden, like a balloon popped inside your chest.

Mikey pulls you into him instantly. No hesitation. Arms wide, warmth full. He wraps around you like armor made of comfort.

“Shhh, shhh, I got you. I got you.”

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong right away, just holds you. Rubs your back in slow circles. Sways slightly. He knows talking comes after safety.

When you do speak, about feeling invisible, about being the one who’s always “on” always cheering others but never feeling seen, he clutches you tighter.

“That’s not true. You light up the whole dang lair. And when you dim, we all feel it.”

Mikey is probably the first to cry with you. Soft tears, no drama. Just open empathy. He feels everything you’re saying and wishes he could carry it for you

Afterward, he doesn’t let you go far. You’re under blanket-watch. Favorite snacks. Silly cartoons. Long hugs.

And when he makes jokes now, they’re lighter. Softer. Sometimes just for you. And you can tell: he’s not trying to fix you, he’s just trying to remind you that you’re not alone, as long as you’re with him.

He starts validating you more, every day. Out of nowhere.

“You know you matter, right?”

“I’m serious. You’re, like, cosmic jellybean-level important.”

You’ll catch him watching you sometimes. Not with worry, but with wonder. Like he’s memorising your face.

“Next time you feel like you’re fading?” he says one night, curled up beside you. “Don’t go quiet. Just… come find me. I’ll remind you how loud your heart really is.”

The original request:

[redsrooftopprincess]

Pls ignore me if your requests are closed buuuuuuutttt

Headcanons for a reader that can't stop 'mirin(staring full love and joy, especially when they're not looking) with infamously insecure Big Red ?

And if not, know that you're loved and appreciated regardless and I'm glad you and your blog exist

Hello my dear Gornack! Hope the new year is treating you well. Thank you for the ask! 🥰

Mountains and Sunsets and You

Raphael x Reader

No warnings

"You got something to say?"

His sudden attention snaps you back into reality. 

Shit. Fuck.

Caught red handed, you try to keep cool as heat fills your cheeks. 

You were doing it again. He could see you out of the corner of his eye for the last hour. You were sitting on one of the benches, pretending to work, and watching him as he and his brothers worked through their katas. It had almost made him trip twice.

It's always new and exciting at first, but you've already known him for a few months. The novelty should have worn off by now. But it keeps happening. He catches you staring. It's only him, he's paid enough attention to know you don't watch his brothers like this. It's unnerving. Distracting. He'd taken a backhand to the jaw during sparring last week, and even spilled his midnight coffee on April's carpet. Twice.

"No..." you say a little too innocently.

Training had wrapped for the night, and it had been Raphael's turn to put the equipment away, leaving him alone in the dojo with you as you gathered up your paperwork. You stood, turning to leave, when your eyes landed on him. You couldn't help but follow the lines of his side with every stretch, and the way the muscles in his arms shifted under his skin as he almost reverently placed each weapon back on the wall. 

There isn't anything wrong with it, per se. You aren't looking at him with hatred or fear or disgust, if anything you look... fascinated. And not in a "weird mutant science experiment" kind of way. He can't explain it, and he can't explain the warmth that pools in his stomach every time he catches you doing it. And it's frustrating as hell.

"Then why the hell are you looking at me?" He growls, "Why the hell are you always looking at me?" He takes three steps towards you before stopping, instinct identifying pain and confusion as an an opponent, but you don't flinch. You know you're not in any real danger. Never from him. 

His scales catch the multicolored lights in the lair making him shimmer, and as he fidgets your eyes move over the gentle color shift that will only let you see his markings when the light is just right. You've never met anyone like him, seen anything like him, and everything he does is captivating. 

"Because you're beautiful," you say, simply, before you can stop yourself. 

This catches him off-guard, and he hesitates for a moment before he scoffs and looks away, "You're hilarious."

"Am I laughing?" You ask, without so much as a smile.

His eyes meet yours, hurt and suspicion deepset in amber. You can't be serious. When your features don't change, and he realizes there's no oncoming punchline, his eyes soften and fall away. 

Your jaw tightens. You hate it. You hate the way the world has ground imperfection and insecurity into every single scale. He's worth so much more than this broken place, and he's been beaten into believing he's unworthy of less than this. 

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" You ask, gently.

"Does what?"

"The fact that I find you beautiful." 

He hesitates, "... yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's bullshit." He snaps.

"Why?"

He looks at you incredulously.

"Why?" You repeat. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"Why?" You nearly demand, "Why not you? Why can't you be beautiful?"

"Because I'm not." The words ring out against the cement walls, as solid and true as the foundations of the earth.

He's not. He can't be. He's not human. He's not normal. He's a 6'5" turtle with chronic pain and a bad attitude. Covered in scars, shell cracked and gouged and broken in places, he's all thick hide and hard edges. How could anyone find that "beautiful?"

A few moments pass, and you gently break the silence, "Can I ask you something?"

"I got a choice?" He sighs, his frustration dissolving into exhaustion. He doesn't want or need a pep talk, and he sure as hell doesn't want someone like you trying to make him feel better. But somewhere, in the short time you've known each other, he's begun to trust you. He motions for you to continue.

"Do you think a mountain is beautiful?"

His gaze returns to yours and blinks twice, "... What?"

"Do you think a mountain is beautiful," you repeat. 

"Uh, yeah... I guess..." His brow furrows.

"Do you think..." You think for a moment, "a sunset is beautiful?" 

He sighs heavily, shifting his weight, "Yeah. Why. What's this got to do with anything?"

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" A small smile turns the corner of your mouth. He can't help glancing at it.

He hesitates. He just met you, and he really likes spending time with you. You're quick and kind and a hell of a good listener, he's vented to you about his brothers more than once already. You have a way of talking to him that makes things make sense. And Gods, yes, you're beautiful. Like a sun he can't stop staring at, even as his eyes are burning.

"Yes," he finally admits softly, holding your gaze. 

You try to ignore the way the word ricochets around your ribcage, and push on, tilting your head slightly, and questioning softly, "Would you ever consider me ugly for not looking enough like a mountain or a sunset?" 

"What? No! Why the hell -" he stops when you raise an eyebrow. It dawns on him slowly, and he blinks at you. 

You decide it best to let him turn that over for a while. He watches you wordlessly as you walk past him, bumping his arm gently with yours on your way out of the dojo. "See you later, Red," you say with a smile, before disappearing through the door.

....

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[hauntingofhouses]

(concept art of young taigen - source ; art credit: @abigaillarson)

i cannot get over this concept art of young taigen. god.

just look at this angry bratty boy, too many feelings that he doesnt know what to do with! an abused 9 year old kid in poverty always playing with sticks in the dirt, obsessed with greatness and dreaming to escape his decrepit village—and he does!

he does escape. he runs away. this angry little boy, all claws and teeth and biting words uttered with a lisp, going on the run into a world he's never seen before until he makes his way to kyoto. and knowing him he probably forced his way in to be accepted by the dojo, growling and kicking even as he's thrown out, back into the streets, too stubborn to take no for an answer and never knowing when to give up.

taigen calls mizu a dog, weak, an orphan, a scrawny street urchin. but i can't help but think that he feels so bold to use those words because he had them spat at him too.

because taigen had the idea of "this is how the world is" beat into him from birth. he learned quickly that if you couldn't beat the world you could join it. but that meant losing your way, your values, your principles. and isn't that what true honour is? not just titles and status and glory?

we don't get to see what taigen, as a child surrounded by peers encouraging and goading him on, would've actually done if that meteor hadn't fallen right in front of them at that very moment. would he have really tried to throw that stone on mizu, killing her? we don't know.

but we do see what taigen (his true self, with no one around) does, when presented with the same opportunity. when mizu passes out in front of him, unconscious and near death, vulnerable, the path to restoring his honour lays itself out for him on a silver platter. and he wants to take it, wants to kill mizu, to claim what is his and return to kyoto and get back everything he'd worked tooth and nail for. he feels like it's what he should do. but he doesn't.

and later, again he is presented with the chance to betray mizu, likely offered by heiji shindo to get his rank reinstated within the shindo dojo. and again, taigen doesn't take it. he refuses. "stupidly loyal," fowler calls him later. loyal, like a dog.

because now, pulled away from the sneering looks and jeering words of people around him, telling him that this is what the world is, taigen had met ringo and mizu, two outcasts who refuse to follow a predetermined path to greatness. and so inside something blooms in him. something like hope. a chance to live in a world that doesn't kick you down every chance it gets, to live in a world where genuine kindness and and love and friendship and even weakness is possible, allowed to simply exist without fear.

because he'd been running away from the very idea of it the whole time. when he ran from kohama, he never looked back, never wanted to remember what it was like to be a child, afraid and hungry and angry and hurting, without the words to make sense of it, desperately wishing for something. something more. he doesn't know what. but he hears stories of great swordsmen and decides, yes, this must be it. this is what i want: glory, greatness. the twisted seed gets planted and thrives in this barren land.

and when he returns to kohama with mizu and ringo, he at last is forced to stop running. he must face the child within him again, and he tells that child to put down the stones in his hand, tells him to stop barking at anything that moves or looks at him wrong.

the child drops the stone, and taigen buys dumplings instead, gives them to mizu. the child within him, wide-eyed at the prospect of friendship, moves him to pick up a hammer and toss it to mizu. he's smiling inside even as he does it; giggling like a kid hiding a silly prank. as soon as mizu drops the hammer after him, he leaps at her, tackling her to the ground and they wrestle and laugh unbridled like two children playing while the adults aren't around to barge in and yell at them.

and then his gaze catches on mizu's lips, he stares into mizu's eyes, a sparkling blue, inviting like the open sea in good weather.

it's a man's desire that takes hold then, the child in him sinking away again, and he curses himself for it, because it ruins the moment.

everything goes to shit from there, and then it's back to being a man, back to putting on his grown-up's armour to play hero.

it fails. the shogun dies. fowler's beatings reopen all the wounds left by heiji shindo's torture. "honour is meaningless," mizu tells him. "nothing comes from being a samurai but death."

the words follow him, and he follows the words.

as everything burns down, he runs, leaving the fire behind him, and sees akemi, as well as the verdure of spring behind her, calling him. he does not hesitate then to hold his hand out to her, inviting her to come with him. "i don't want to be great," he says. "i just want to be happy."

what is happiness to him? perhaps he doesn't know it yet, or perhaps he does. but really, i believe happiness is what the child in him always wanted but never received. happiness is a home.

[annshime]

hi. this is my first post here so pls be gentle LMAO.

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS ABSURD LEVELS OF DELULU, UNVERIFIED LORE-BENDING, AND PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORIZING THAT CAME FROM ME STARING TOO LONG AT SUO’S SMILE.

YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.

I am not okay and neither are you if you keep reading.😂✨HAHAHAHHAHA YES. THIS IS WILD. I’M JUST BEING WILD HERE.

No I will not calm down.

Anyway.

I’ve been absolutely consumed by this whole suo hayato mystery and i can’t shut up about it anymore. and honestly?? this theory's built from scattered bits i’ve seen from other brilliant minds here (i’ll try to track down sources later to credit properly if u want to be tagged dm me 🙏), so shoutout to everyone who's already whispered about "is he even Japanese fr???" and "what if he has actual trauma?"

here’s my personal rabbit hole.

aka: what if Suo Hayato was trafficked as a child, escaped, and ended up in Furin?

BACKSTORY THEORY (pt 1):

He’s not originally Japanese.

He was likely born in China, or somewhere else in East/Southeast Asia. He either:

never knew his parents,

or was taken from them extremely young.

In a lot of trafficking routes across East Asia (yes I pulled a few academic papers on this don't look at me), there's a real pattern of undocumented children being moved into rural ports, held in isolated labor compounds, or sold into abusive “families” or criminal networks. These kids are stripped of language, name, even identity. Some never learn who they were.

I think Suo was one of them.

But one day, something happened.

A fire? An accident? He got away. Barely.

He was injured, starving, probably still very young.

Until he met the Master.

THE MASTER — A PILLAR FIGURE

The Master isn’t just a martial arts teacher. I think he’s someone who knew exactly what Suo was.

He saw through the trauma. Saw through the fake name, the silence, the fear.

In some areas, martial arts masters take in orphans or abused kids—especially in small communities where the system isn’t reliable. I imagine he had other students—Suo calls them “brothers”—and for the first time, Suo had a life where he was allowed to exist without being used.

He trains.

He cooks.

He smiles.

He starts becoming Suo Hayato.

But that peace was always borrowed time.

THE RETURN OF THE PAST — AND THE NIGHT OF THE AMBUSH

Somehow… the traffickers find him again.

And this time, they don’t snatch him back right away.

No—they send a message.

An attack on the dojo.

Violent. Calculated. Terrifying.

Some of the brothers are killed.

Others taken.

The Master? Likely captured—or worse.

And Suo? Told to run.

I think it was the Master who screamed at him to go.

Or maybe Suo ran on instinct.

Either way—he lost everything that night.

And that’s when he came to Japan.

WHY FURIN? WHY HERE? WHY NOW?

Here’s the part I haven’t seen people talk about enough:

Why Furin?

Why go to the worst possible school full of delinquents and gangs and violence?

BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE HE CAN DISAPPEAR.

In Furin, everyone has a past.

Everyone fights.

No one asks.

He could blend in. Be useful again.

Protect himself.

Never be vulnerable.

It’s the perfect camouflage.

BEHAVIORAL EVIDENCE — “A TRAUMA SURVIVOR’S MOVEMENTS”

This is where I speak as someone who's studied trauma responses, and worked around clinical psych communities. (no i'm not licensed. yes i do spiral-research trauma as comfort.)

The way Suo:

smiles too much,

covers his ears in chaos,

refuses to fight unless necessary,

but when he does… it’s surgical.

Those are learned trauma adaptations.

They are not quirks.

They are coping systems for someone who had their autonomy stripped.

He is always performing safety. For others. For himself.

Even when no one’s looking.

---------

I’ll probably write a follow-up about how this affects the group, how Sakura fits in (and why a Suo vs Sakura fight would absolutely destroy both of them), but for now—

this is my hill.

and I will cry on it.

If you read this whole thing ily. If you wanna cry w me about this pls do. If u have similar theories or references SEND. THEM. TO. ME.

[randomwriteronline]

(Catching Up)

If the XTransceiver had not buzzed on his wrist, Ingo might have sat there for the rest of the day, gently running his hand on the side of Excadrill’s neck.

He was glad he’d seen the kid again.

He was, really.

It was good to know they were doing fine despite it all, and they’d seemed equally happy to see him acclimate to his own life once again - though he was awfully sorry about forgetting the difference in time zones and keeping them awake so long into the night (no matter how much they reassured him he wasn’t ruining their sleep schedule with one single call).

It had just…

He kept thinking of their tone in that single moment.

Just turning the sound of it in his mind, round and round, over and over.

(It had struck him too late, after the call was already over and he’d been mulling for a minute or two, that he hadn’t apologized.)

(For what?)

(The sky.)

(The sky had cracked open upon them with its sickly vermillion color interlaced with green, and he had been outside the dojo, and he had watched them be banished from Jubilife Village without saying or doing anything. He had just stood there, like the dumbfounded cretin he had actually been.)

(What could he have done, anyways? It wasn’t as though they’d known each other too well - he’d been glad to aid them along their way up the Highlands, and they’d been kind enough to take on his requests and try to help him with his memories and entertain themselves with his challenges, and that had been it. Why would they have expected him to do anything? Why would he have thought of doing anything? What good would it have been either way if he had, indeed, tried to make a case for their innocence? Jubilife Village was not the Pearl Clan: what little power his status as warden might have given him was easily rendered null and void outside of the walls of the huts built to stave off the Icelands’ powerful winds; and besides, he was an outsider like them. He had barely had the right to argue for his own departure. He could have easily been detained or ostracized just like them.)

(Still.)

(He was a conductor.)

(Passenger safety was his responsibility.)

(He should have done something, anything, for them.)

(But he hadn’t.)

The distraction on his wrist dragged him back to the real world in the matter of a moment, his eyes blinking quickly and his hand halting in the middle of a caress to Excadrill’s back.

In the time it took him to angle himself so he could look at the display while still allowing the enormous Ground mole to stay comfortably seated on his lap, the buzzing repeated again: the screen showed him an unknown contact had sent him two messages. He fumbled a moment with the small device until he managed to open them up, squinting at the small letters.

Very gently, Klinklang lifted his wrist closer to his face so he could read better.

9:07. Hiiiiiiiii this is Briosa Crociera Substitute Subway Boss/Master

9:07. Its my free day and Elesa apparently is busy so Emmet gave me your number n asked if i could check in on you

A rectangular smile came to his mind. With Haxorus’ help he immediately saved the number, just in case.

9:08. Good morning Briosa! I am doing quite fine, thank you. How are you? I hope Elesa has not run into any trouble.

9:09. Im fine thank you! and dont worry abt her shes just working

9:09. Can i ask you a couple questions real quick

9:09. Of course! I shall answer to the best of my abilities.

9:10. First of all you got plans today

9:10. No, I can’t say I do.

9:10. Second of all how are you with water

That was a weird continuation.

9:10. I do drink it, yes. It’s important to remain well hydrated.

9:11. Wish that were me

9:11. My brain is convinced im a maractus and my thirst reflex is non existent

9:11. But i meant more generally like being in water or swimming

9:12. That does not seem quite healthy. Perhaps you should visit a doctor about it. I’m also afraid I’m not familiar with what a Maractus might look like, so I fear your comparison is a little lost on me.

As he was typing his response to her other text, an image appeared suddenly on the screen: it depicted a sprawling desert landscape, dunes falling upon each other in cascades of fool’s gold, with a vibrant green beastie in the middle of it all.

The footless Pokémon stood out like a sore thumb in the dull yellow of the sand. Its body seemed full much like a balloon sagging with water, but the brilliant golden eyes and the mischievous smile were filled with a restless excited energy, as though it were about to break the stillness of the picture to bounce around happily, causing both its spikes and the lovely flowers sticking from atop what might have been its large antennae to sway to the beat.

Was this Maractus, then? Briosa’s next messages confirmed as much.

9:13. This guy

9:13. Lives in the desert n does not need water for ages bc it stores it all in the lil pigtail things over there

9:14. What a delightful Pokémon! It seems very friendly. Thank you for offering clarifications - I understand now. Regarding your question, I am indeed capable of swimming and floating, but I’m still a little lost on what “being in the water” would mean.

9:14. Fair, hold on

9:14. Please, take all the time you need.

9:16. Do you suffer from a debilitating fear of any of the following: - water - the sea - the ocean - boats - being on a boats - fish - seafood - jellyfish - water pokemon - drowning - storms at sea - other things related to water/sea/fish/algae/boats/etc

Oh! A very thorough list! Then again, if the subject was severe phobias, it was good to be precise and include as many options as possible.

Ingo read it carefully.

9:17. Thank you for asking me. Here are my answers in order: - No - No - No - No - No - No - No - No - No, though I do not have any - I am reasonably afraid of drowning - I am similarly reasonably afraid of storms at sea - I cannot think of anything else relating to the subject at hand

9:18. Baller

(He snorted despite himself. Who the hell says ‘baller’?)

(It sounded old even to him.)

(And if anybody was supposed to know old, that was definitely him.)

9:18. You wanna go feed some frillish?

9:18. Water ghost

He thanked her quick wits for specifying before he had to ask.

So she was talking about Pokémon once again. Maybe it was a friendly species, or in this case a colony designated to a precise area. The name did intrigue him, bringing images of something graceful and wispy to his mind… It sounded like an interesting change of pace from his past sedentary days. And he would have gotten to see more of the region – so, why not?

9:19. I would indeed like to see more Unovan Pokémon!

9:19. Nice! wait uhhhhh ten minutes

Since she did not add anything onto that, he supposed he would have just waited.

Seven minutes later, he jolted six feet into the air while searching for a snack as someone tried blowing a hole through his door with their fists.

“HI!” came a sugar sweet voice at terrible volumes from beyond it: “IT’S BRIOSA!”

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised at seeing, once he’d opened the door, that it indeed was her: wearing a different hat, much boxier in shape, and different clothes, with no sleeves nor a coat to speak of and pants much too baggy for her little frame and heart-laced shoes with enormous soles that made her seem slightly taller, and Mawile on her arm instead of on the ground or biting down on her limbs, but with the same rotten green eyes and short stature and saccharine tone.

She smiled her square grin at him: “Hey.”

“Hello!” he greeted back, nodding in acknowledgement at both her and her Fairy, who nodded back politely. He stood there in front of them for a moment, like some kind of decorative alabaster column; then, a little awkwardly, he saw it fit to inquire: “May I ask how you found this address, seeing as I did not mention it at all?”

“I’ve cooked here,” she answered curtly.

He was about to apologize for the silly question – obviously a friend of Emmet’s would be aware of where his residence was – but her instant reply blocked him for a moment or so to better process what that meant.

Not that Briosa would allow him, because she immediately continued without giving him any chance of voicing his thoughts: “Wanna go?”

He stalled, turning back towards the corridor and then to her once more: “Should I take my own team along?” he asked. “I lack any Water Types, but if we are going into uncharted waters it would be perhaps safer to bring them either way.”

She shrugged: “That’s fair.”

He jumped again a few seconds later, as he was collecting his team – all of whom seemed very excited at the prospect of going out – when she shouted at him from the door, so loud that her voice squeaked: “REMEMBER THE FACEMASK!”

Ingo briefly wondered if that was how he sounded like to others.

He understood now why people tended to jolt or wince.

He also wondered, as they speeded through the streets, if Briosa was a relative of theirs that his brother had neglected to include in the family tree - seeing as she sporadically had both his egregious volume and Emmet’s bulldozing gait when walking, which was the main reason as to why they were currently making their way further and further west of Nimbasa with nary an opposition from other passersby, who perhaps took notice of her a little later due to her stature but were quick to throw themselves to the side and let her pass instead of getting their knees completely pulverized by such an unstoppable bullet of a person.

Now that he thought about it, her unmovable resolve could compete with Marshal’s, and Iris did have a similar brand of assertiveness and a tendency to drag people around like empty bags…

As lost in thought as he was, he very nearly found himself completely alone in the buzzing crowd, almost losing sight of his chaperone - though luckily he was able to locate and rush after her thanks to the long trail of empty space and terrified pedestrians left in the wake of her passage.

If she was indeed part of their family, she had not gotten their height.

“I didn’t know Nimbasa had an outlet onto the sea,” he noted loudly, half worrying his voice would get lost in the air currents created by her mad sprint.

Mawile, sitting on her aidee’s arm, translated him without problem: “Oh, it doesn’t,” Briosa replied without even turning, “It has one to the desert, we’re going to Driftveil.”

“To the desert?” he repeated.

“No, to Driftveil.”

“But you said something about a desert?”

“Yep.”

“There’s a desert?”

“Yep, the Desert Resort, or the Quiet Desert. I like Quiet Desert more than Resort, it makes it sound less like a tourist spot, which it isn’t really, because, you know! Desert! Just sand! Nothing else! And the castle, barely. But mostly sand!”

“And the what?”

“Castle, barely.”

“There’s a what?”

“Technically yes, practically no.”

Unsure how he was supposed to get clarification on that, he briefly changed the subject: “Why is it called quiet?”

“Because it’s quiet.”

“I imagined as much, but is there a more specific reason?”

“There used to be people and now there aren’t.”

“There used to be – sorry – people lived in the desert?”

“It probably wasn’t a desert back then but yes, I told you, there’s the castle and everything - barely, but technically there is one and I think you can get lost in there. Never been there! Just heard about it.”

Ingo looked around at the urban reality around him with completely different eyes compared to when Elesa had first dragged him through it – at the large fountains that sometimes dotted the streets, the shimmering of the amusement park’s gate preceding the clear moat around it, the plants, the small forest they were quickly approaching: all of this, right outside of a desert?

Such bountiful nature so close to a near complete lack of life?

Perhaps there was a fresh-water basin underground, and the city had been built on top of it; or perhaps it had been an oasis, and human intervention had then turned it into a properly lush continental landscape.

And to think of an inhabited desert… The thought of wandering people making a life through it didn’t sound as alien as he might have thought, but a castle within the dunes!

Who knows what kind of kingdom that could have been, now drowned in a dry sea…

Unova was such an interesting place.

“You can see it from the station, I think,” Briosa interrupted his musings.

He snapped back into focus: “What?”

“The desert, I think you can see it from the station,” she repeated: “There’s a balcony at the top, and if you stand there you can definitely see Castellia, so you should probably also– AH CAZZO L'HANNO TIRATO GIÙ ADESSO SANTI DRAGHI DI ‘STA MINCHIA,” she interrupted herself suddenly; her free hand clutched Ingo’s, and she all but dragged him through the asphalted path so quickly that he was fairly sure he was about to start majestically flailing in the wind: “Dai dai dai prima che non ci veda e lo tiri su di nuovo!”

A woman in a small booth replied to her greeting gesture with a reassuring thumbs up; in a moment, the two were standing on a marvel of metal and pulled rope, as red and white as truth itself, while above them circled flying winged shapes, dark against the morning sun.

Briosa let go of him and stomped to a stop a few steps away, leaning down onto her knees as she inhaled really noisily to regain her breath.

Ingo noticed only then, in-between heaving enormous quantities of air back into his burning lungs, that Mawile was still hanging onto her aidee’s arm, eyes enormous and claws sinking into it holding for dear life - by extension realizing there were also a discrete amount of small paler stripes of skin on the same limb, roughly as large as the cuts the hearing aid Pokémon had just opened.

The fact that this sort of phenomenon (bursting into a sprint out of nowhere) was, apparently, common enough for the Substitute to not even flinch as the Fairy simply dangled from her limb greatly befuddled him.

Then again, being in a semi-constant state of great puzzlement seemed like the standard reaction to Briosa in general.

“Porca di quella puttana troia d’una Emboar tua madre, c’è mancato un pelo,” she continued once she finally no longer exhaled like the rickety exhaust pipe of the world’s worst put together car.

It sounded like an incredibly blasphemous thing, so he held himself back from asking for a translation.

She stretched back to her entire three-Rawsts-and-an-Oran worth of height and waved at him with an easygoing attitude while her poor aide struggled to sit back up on her arm: “Questi se non ti vedono che sali rischi che ti tirano su il ponte sotto i piedi quando sei a metà. È successo a un amico di mio papà, s’è quasi polverizzato l’osso sacro scivolando giù fino a terra - che è una caduta mica da ridere, non te la raccomando. Noi siamo a posto comunque, non ti preoccupare, non c’è nave che tenga, finché non ci vedono arrivare dall’altra parte questo pezzo di merda non si muove d’un millimetro. Dai ora, che il ponte non è lungo ma se ci beccano gli Swanna non la finiamo più. Ecco, attento agli Swanna appunto. E ai Ducklett. Che son bastardi pure loro. Piccini e tutto, ma bastardi.”

Ingo did not respond to that.

His eyes covertly turned to Mawile, hoping they could convey what his lack of expressivity couldn’t, that being: was it a little late to ask for a translation?

Because while he would have very much liked to comprehend what all of that had been about, it had sounded like a whole lot of information, and he wasn’t even sure if Mawile had understood it either.

The Fairy sighed deeply, tiredly setting her paws up to relay his question.

She was interrupted by a loud graceful shriek approaching ever quicker, as if diving right for them: a large shadow was closing in on them from the sky, slowly unveiling a sharp beak and white plumage as it approached with the speed and murderous intent of a heat-seeking missile.

Oh, shit.

When bird pokémon got like that, one’s best hope was to duck in time and sprint as far into the opposite direction as possible. And Ingo was all out of sprinting for the day.

He couldn’t even manage to be mad when Mawile jumped off of her aidee out of what he rightfully assumed to be a burst of preservation instincts, only patting her shoulder to give her a speedy farewell before leaving her to her no doubt agonizing end - since the beast approaching was fairly large and by the looks of it could have easily swept her off her feet and carried her away much like a Hunchcrow nabbing a very unfortunate Buneary. That was a fair response from the little Steel type, he reasoned, since she was even smaller than her human ward.

He, on the other hand, who was significantly larger than all parties involved, should have done something about this.

Before he could move, the Flying Type had reached his prey.

Said prey proceeded to instantly grasp the Pokémon’s long white neck in an iron grip, slap the beaked face hard enough to make it squawk, and hurl it over the red edge of the bridge as it flapped its wings in frantic terror, with no additional fanfare outside from a squeaky: “E vaffanculo!”

Ah.

Well…

Yes, actually, he should have expected this.

Honestly he wasn’t sure why he’d even entertained the thought that the poor creature had any chance of survival.

Briosa turned to him again: “Vedi?” she asked, and gestured at the Flying beast clumsily fluttering as far away from her as possible in a hurry: “Gli Swanna son stronzi così. Per quello dobbiamo sbrigarci, altrimenti ne arrivano altri dieci e a quel punto siam fottuti. Dai, metti in moto quelle pertiche che hai al posto delle gambe e andiamo.”

Then she turned around, and Ingo nearly tripped on his feet to keep up with her.

The bridge was marvelously built, he could still notice in spite of how little time he got to spend on it. The open sea greeted him from one side, and the enormous river from the other: despite the brine and limestone the metal structure remained a splendid red, its powerful metal cables holding strong against the winds and constant stress of lowering and raising the heavy platform. The sudden familiarity he’d felt when looking at modern Canalave City on the Sinnohan map was thus explained - he’d seen those kinds of drawbridges before! Right here!

An inexplicable joy lifted his heart a little. Hurrying to the other side didn’t feel as winding anymore.

The massive structure groaned as though to bid them goodbye while it was pulled up to let a ship pass, carrying whatever precious cargo it had upstream, when they finally touched down in Driftveil City.

If he had to describe the place in one word, he might have said it was very… Brown.

That did not mean it was monotonous, or ugly: just that the color and its variations seemed to dominate the city’s palette. Past the small green park meant to welcome visitors from Nimbasa the brick-built houses went back and forth between all sorts of earthy hues, from burnt orange to tan to something even closer to a fiery red, and the thin clay dust sometimes swirling on the gray asphalt gave the streets an appearance similar to some exotic kind of sandstone, or perhaps some yet unknown kind of semi-precious gem. Buildings with yet lighter colored walls appeared by contrast to be struggling against the city’s weather, finding themselves a little dull, almost gaunt or sickly, covered in graying patches nowhere to be seen on older constructions.

Briosa walked confidently between the slightly less bustling avenues, letting Ingo observe from the wake of her bulldozing passage. They passed a large market, silver tiles a little dusty, and took a wider road south from which vans periodically emerged to get swallowed up by the city life.

“Do you like fish?” she asked for no apparent reason.

“I do!”

“Then I’ll call you on Thursday for a list! That’s when the fish market comes around!”

“A list of what?”

“Motorbike parts. What do you think they sell at a fish market?”

“Oh! Please, there is no need to bother yourself with my own groceries. I will be glad to return on the correct day and get some myself.”

She laughed her rubbery giggle and drastically reduced her walking speed, appearing beside him in the blink of an eye: “No way, they’re able to swindle your underwear from under your nose if you can’t keep up with their bullshit arguments,” she winked: “Let the king of the market handle it. I’ll get you some great quality Feebas at a price so low you’ll shit your pants twice.”

Ingo processed the words like a steel ingot to the head: “I hope it will not come to that, but thank you.”

They turned sharply as they approached a long cement bridge connecting some kind of small island to the rest of the peninsula, apparently inhabited only by stern gray warehouses with roofs of a beautiful blue surrounded by large ships, mysterious green parallelepipeds, and gargantuan rust-red cranes; his short guide led him instead to a port for smaller vessels of varying sizes and capacities, most white and with some kind of sail.

Briosa navigated through the grove of masts and ropes as naturally as she would have in a subway tunnel.

Her search came to an end as she jumped into a small motor powered boat - perhaps the smallest in the entire sea: it was large enough to hold maybe two people, with a layer of vaguely blueish paint that wasn’t waterproof chipping away to reveal dull metal. Between the two seats lay a plank of wood similar to a cutting board, while near the front sat a large airtight sealed bag brimming with something and a toolbox was secured to the back right under the engine.

Mawile settled in the rickety thing with fond familiarity, finding a comfortable spot right at the front. As she stretched, Ingo couldn’t help imagining her as a miniature ship’s figurehead, impassively braving high tides and stormy weather.

With a brilliant square smile, Briosa opened her arms.

“Boat!” she announced proudly.

The man before her nodded and clapped by reflex before remembering she was deaf.

She bowed deeply nonetheless with a noticeable sense of theatricality.

“Now get in - CAREFULLY, with your freakishly long legs,” she ordered at last, pointing him to the seat in front of her. “We’ve got Frillish to feed.”

Ingo complied, taking all necessary precautions - Palina had shown him how to avoid accidentally capsizing vessels even smaller than this one, and he repeated her instructions under her breath as he added his weight to the boat.

Mawile lent him a paw to help him stabilize himself: he took it gratefully despite the very obvious fact that the difference between the various values of their bodies would have been enough to send the Steel Fairy flying directly into the horizon if he so much as briefly slipped, repaying the favor by helping her down from where she stood and offering his lap as a much more cushioned seat for her with a very polite ‘allow me, madam’, in the spit image of an old-fashioned gentleman. The tiny pokémon snickered a bit at his courtesy, but made herself comfortable on his leg nonetheless with a kind little signed thanks.

The motor suddenly stuttering to live scared the wits out of him briefly: he turned just in time to see Briosa smack her hand on the engine appreciatively with some kind of strange coo (“e anche oggi, ti si butta domani”) and face him with a wide toothy grin that cast a dangerous shadow all over her face.

The little boat then lurched ahead with impressive vigor; Ingo felt his back fold quicker than lightning as the dingy little thing speeded forward out of the harbor, almost squashing Mawile under him and slamming his nose directly into his own knees. He managed to catch himself just in time for neither of those things to happen and looked up with the wide eyes of a Pichu caught stealing a berry.

Briosa only grinned wider, rotten olive eyes squinted hard, square mouth opening just a moment to let out her squeaky saccharine laugh.

He would learn later that evening that she had that terrifying expression not because she was planning to spook him (or worse, grievously injure him) in the coming days, but because that was just how she looked when her teeth showed.

In the current moment, he thoughtfully considered whether he should fear for his life.

Water sprayed his back as they took off.

Ingo took his face mask off and turned to soak in the salmaster scent, eyes closed.

The engine coughed and croaked against the waves’ smoother hisses as they zipped around the hull; the wind seemed to cut into his nose, scraping his cheeks, howling in his ears until he had to pull down his hat to cover them.

Oh, this was so much better than flying. A million times better. The unstable gait of the boat still made him feel as though he was sitting on something solid, the buildings slowly growing smaller didn’t turn miniscule as soon as he blinked, and the vast expanse of the sea beneath him was far less terrifying than however many kilometers of completely empty air could have been between him and the ground.

He leaned against the side, almost laying down completely overwhelmed by some kind of inexplicable bliss.

“Having fun?” Briosa asked from behind his eyelids.

Sunlight pressed onto them, turning their darkness pink.

He nodded solemnly and gave her a thumbs up.

He could hear Mawile laugh goodnaturedly about it in his lap.

The rumbling engine sputtered to a halt after what felt like hours, but had very likely just been minutes; Ingo opened his eyes to be greeted by a sky with very few clouds, blue waves in every direction, and a good dozen beady red eyes creeping closer from beneath the water’s surface.

Not the most relaxing detail to notice.

A vaguely onion shaped mass began breaking through, rising towards him with a haunting empty look like that of a wandering Duskull fixed upon a pale azure skin. He stared back at it while it gripped the side of the boat with a wet flap similar to some kind of fabric to heft itself out of the water better and lean towards him, closer and closer, reaching out for him…

Mawile’s enormous jaws snapped around it, and the creature yelped comically loud.

Ingo felt himself yanked back to reality: “Oh!” he exclaimed while Briosa almost deafened him with a fit of maddened laughter, “Thank you!”

The little Fairy nodded back at him with a pleasant smile as she let go of her blubbering victim and smacked her aidee’s offered hand in a high five - or high three, considering the number of fingers on her paw.

“Are these the Frillish?” he asked.

The other human nodded after receiving his translation while she slammed one of her ridiculously tall-soled shoes onto the head of another one of the strange beasts (a rather pink one, who also gave a strangled wail when the hit drove its spectral jaw onto the metal and back into the water) to drive it off: “Their food’s right behind you,” she said as she pointed behind Ingo.

The man turned quickly, noticing the airtight bag secured at the front and bringing it to the middle of the boat: “Ah, pardon me - of course they were trying to climb in, I was blocking off their source of sustenance.”

“Oh no, they were trying to climb in to eat you,” Briosa corrected him. She opened the bag wide and pulled out some kind of shovel to mix around the kibble. “They would’ve dragged you into the water, drowned you and made you their lunch. It’s happened! They found the victims’ bones and everything!”

“... I see. Why do you feed them, then?”

A rain of kibble landed into the water and was promptly devoured by the hungry Ghosts: “Fun, I guess.”

She handed him the shovel.

With no other clear option, he shrugged mentally and launched another handful of edible little cubes into the sea.

They spent an almost infinite amount of minutes just taking turns at the bag, tossing food at the swarm and watching the blues and pinks mingle just underneath the surface as they hurried to get a bite before they were all gobbled up.

It was strangely satisfying.

Relaxing, even.

Kind of like watching Gravelers roll up and down a ravine.

He could see why Briosa enjoyed this.

They were rather curious Pokémon, he mused. He could feel a certain strange charm oozing out of them, the same that wafted from Chandelure, a certain eerie quality to their movements and their calls that he could compare to the Ghosts haunting Mount Coronet; yet something was especially heavy about them, as if they were bound by a sort of gravity that dragged them downwards instead of letting them waver lightly in the breeze.

Could it be the weight of the water they made their home within? The dampness of the infinite depths which hid away shipwrecks and sunken treasures, challenging any foolish divers that dared search for pearls within the rotting and rusting relics…

Perhaps this was what had brought the Substitute Subway Boss to care for them.

“Do you do this often?” he asked.

“On my days off.”

“This swarm must know you well, then.”

“Probably.”

“Do you like this type of Pokémon?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Have you ever considered catching any of them?”

“No.”

“I see.”

Like his brother, she could be well-versed in the art of conciseness.

As someone who’d never really been able to wield it successfully, he couldn’t help but feel in equal measure frustrated and envious by this pattern of conversation.

The Frillish heads bobbed upon the waves like buoys when the feeding suddenly stopped, watching them expectantly.

“I think they want more,” Ingo noted helpfully.

“They know food time is done,” Briosa replied while laying sideways across the boat. She was short enough that she fit perfectly within it, leaving only her feet poking out as though she were on a hammock.

The man looked back at the Pokémon staring at them with their terrifying beady eyes: “I do not believe they’re as aware of that fact as you might think.”

“Give Mawile a moment.”

The Steel Fairy smirked at the confused look he shot her.

Her maw, which had now long been dipped in the water, quivered lightly. Out of nowhere it began thrashing violently, slamming into the side of the vessel as if trying to rip itself from her head; both humans hurried to grab her tiny body before she was dragged overboard while she very calmly persevered in her mysterious unseen struggle much to the slowly increasing terror of the Frillish witnessing the scene.

Finally, the black mass escaped the ocean with a pinkish bounty roughly twice its size caught between its metal teeth. It slammed onto the board with a horrendous wet noise: the Ghosts paled at the spectacle and scattered as quickly as they could, sinking back into the abyss from whence they’d come.

Briosa whooped, grabbed her hearing aide’s catch, and gnawed a chunk of fin off with her teeth so quickly she almost choked right on it.

Ingo stared.

She stared back. A sudden embarrassment overtook her after a couple of minutes: she coughed, risked strangling herself again, swallowed her bite, and offered it to him.

“No, thank you,” he courteously replied.

“They’re safe to eat raw,” she insisted. “Honestly fresh and raw is the only way you can eat Alomomola fins, because if you freeze ‘em they get all mushy and gross when thawed and if you cook ‘em they get hard as wood and you may as well just use them as paddles. Ah, no, wait, maybe not this side, I chewed all over it - hold on a sec.”

As Mawile took her own bite off of the poor thing now turned into a near-midday snack’s appendages, Briosa rummaged with the toolbox beneath the engine. She pulled out a few knives before settling on one of them: laying the dead Pokémon on the cutting board Ingo had noted the presence of between the seats earlier with no shortage of curiosity, she expertly chopped off both vaguely hand-shaped fins and cut them into fairly long uniform strips that looked like chunky, yet to be dried beef jerky, a couple of which she raised to Ingo in a second, slightly more refined offering.

He accepted only one with a slight sigh, not eating it - not that he was scandalized by the method it had been obtained with (he’d had to hunt, too) or her table manners (he’d seen plenty worse): the smell of fresh fish simply was not a favorite of his.

Briosa was now busying herself with the rest of the corpse, cutting it up with clear and well honed motions.

It reminded him of Palina, of the few times he’d seen her work on a catch.

“You’re rather skilled with a knife,” Ingo noted. “I would not have expected this kind of proficiency nowadays.”

She slipped a fin strip in her mouth, chewing it a bit like a pipe: “Yeah, this isn’t really something you need when you don’t have to survive in the wilderness,” she nodded. “What with supermarkets and everything else.”

“May I ask how you learned?”

“First job was on a fishing boat for a brand of frozen fish sticks. They stuck me below deck to clean catches and prepare everything for the cooking since I was deaf and couldn’t really be of much help upstairs if somebody fell overboard. I did almost stab a guy when he tried to spook me, but also I’m the only one who didn’t end up in jail for Pokémon abuse and illegal fishing techniques, so.”

“Pardon, what?”

“Oh, you know,” Briosa shrugged.

“I do not think I do.”

“No, wait, you can’t know. Amnesia. Ok, so!” and she shoved another strip in her mouth, chewing as she picked up the momentum of her story like a train rolling down the side of a mountain: “By Driftveil, there’s Chargestone Cave, right? Chock full of Joltiks, I know you know those because Emmet has a thousand of ‘em. So what they used to do to minimize costs and maximize catches was, they’d set a few traps up in the cave, catch as many buggers as they could, and then dump them all in the sea so the poor things would panic as they drowned and shocked the fuck out of everything, and then they’d pick up all the dead fish in nets and pull ‘em over below deck for us shitheads to debone and cook and pack and all.”

Ingo absentmindedly bit into the fin, eyes wide as he listened: "That is tremendously inhumane." he noted.

"Hm, absolutely. And super illegal. Which is why when the researchers worried about the sudden decrease in the Joltik population and the several hundreds of little yellow corpses washing ashore discovered the traps and who was setting them up, they shut the whole thing down and almost everybody went to jail."

"Except for you."

"Except for me! Because I was deaf and working below deck and nobody told me anything ever. So they couldn't find anything on me and I just went home to look for another job."

"Is this when you moved onto railroads?"

"Oh no, I was in highschool back then, I paid uni with that job. They made so much cash from the illegal lures and I worked so fast that they kept giving me bonuses. I could even afford uni books. You know how much uni books cost? I could buy out the whole fish market for the same price as like, twelve of them probably."

Ah. “It seems to have worked out for you.”

Briosa threw yet another fin strip in her mouth (he had eaten a few by now as well, and so had Mawile) and nodded sagely.

She had fully cleaned and deboned the Alomomola while talking, now busying herself with cutting it into large enough fillets and wrapping it in papers so the blood and other fluids wouldn’t stain wherever she would settle her haul in. Ingo observed her carefully.

“This isn’t for me, by the way,” she told him while stuffing the fillets into a cold bag. “There’s a Galarian guy who makes fish and chips by the docks.”

“You sell your catches to him?”

“No, I just give ‘em what Mawile gets and he gives me a free meal for her or me or whoever. Equivalent exchange and all. Unless you want this? You can have it. Alomomola are great in a pan with a bit of salt and finely chopped chives on top. Plus they’re fat as hell so you don’t need butter or oil. And their sauce is good for your veins, too.”

“No, thank you,” he replied. “We have enough fish at home.”

She shrugged: “Suit yourself.”

Ingo watched her stretch, thin arms up in the air as she leaned back and to the left. Her strange shirt seemed to cling on her frame for dear life in the way it might have on a too small clothing hanger, ribs threatening to cut through her skin if she bent a little too much; similarly, he noted now, her legs seemed to take very little space inside her pants compared to the mass the fabric would have suggested.

His first thought was: no way she’s not going to survive the winter like that.

His second thought was that heating existed, and she did not rely on hunting, gathering and sparse agricultural practices to get sustenance, so she would have probably handled the coming cold just fine.

His third thought was that she should have still made some substantial (and abundant) changes to her diet.

A powerful ringing tore him out of his own head. He looked to his wrist to find the XTransceiver all abuzz with light and sound, insistently displaying INCOMING CALL FROM: EMMET in bright glowing letters; he tapped it hurriedly.

“I am Emmet,” his twin greeted him.

“Hello! I can see that!” Ingo very loudly waved back at him. “How are you?”

“I am fine! Tired. Usual day stress, though. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I am glad to hear it. Remember to take breaks!”

“I will. Lunch is soon anyway. Got two sandwiches today.”

“Bravo!”

“How are you?”

“I am doing quite fine! Briosa kindly offered to keep me company today, so we have taken a small trip to Driftveil.”

“Nice! Fun place. Lots  of fish.”

“Indeed. I’ve even had the chance to feed some Frillish with her.”

The near instant way his brother’s smile dropped to make way for a wide-eyed pale-cheeked look of pure terror made Ingo consider the possibility that, perhaps, simply mentioning he had been surrounded by man-eating ghost jellyfish without much further elaboration could have sounded a little bit concerning.

“It was done after taking good safety precautions,” he kind of half lied.

Emmet did not effectively hear him, as he instead asked in a very urgent tone: “Are you on the boat?”

“The what?”

“The boat. Briosa’s boat. Are you on the boat?”

Briosa returned her attention to her guest roughly right at that moment, eyes falling on the device at his wrist: “Who’s calling you?” she asked, pointing at the Xtransceiver with her chin.

“I - it’s Emmet,” he replied while struggling to keep his attention divided between the two of them.

“Hm,” she hummed: “Don’t tell him we’re on my boat.”

“You’re on the boat?” Emmet wheezed in a very, very shrill voice.

“I - Emmet, hold on–”

“You’re on the BOAT??”

“I’m- please calm down-”

“ON THE BOAT??”

“Alright, you seem very distressed about the boat.”

“I told you not to tell him about the boat!” Briosa reprimanded him as she read his lips.

Ingo briefly covered the device to at least muffle his twin’s newest shriek: “He can hear you,” he explained as sanity threatened to leave him completely; “He heard you saying I should not have mentioned we were on your boat.”

“YOU’RE ON THE FUCKING BOAT??”

Briosa clicked her tongue loudly after Mawile was done translating.

“Shit,” she just noted.

“GET OFF THE BOAT,” Emmet demanded from under his brother’s hand.

“Emmet, we are currently at sea,” Ingo informed him. “If I were to leave the boat now, I would likely have to swim the way back, which I very plainly refuse to do.”

“I AM EMMET. I DO NOT CARE. GET OFF THE BOAT.”

“You are being a little unreasonable.”

“YOU WILL DROWN.”

“Is he saying we will drown,” the Substitute butted in.

“YOU WILL,” Emmet insisted.

Ingo nodded.

“We’re not gonna drown,” Briosa reassured him.

“YOU WILL.”

“We’re not gonna drown.”

“INGO. TURN ME AROUND. I NEED TO YELL AT HER.”

His twin pursed his lips at him: “I do not think she will hear you.”

“INGO.”

Ingo dutifully unlatched the XTransceiver and handed it over to Briosa for her to more easily see.

He imagined his brother signing furiously as he heard him hiss through gritted teeth: “Briosa. Take him back to land. Right now. Immediately.”

“Emmet, we’re not going to drown.”

“You cannot know that. You will drown. Take him back. Right now.”

“He’s literally fine. I asked him if this sort of place freaked him out beforehand and he said he’s ok.”

“You can’t know that!”

“I can and I do know that because he’s directly in front of me and he’s been nothing but relaxed the whole time he’s been here. We haven’t had any accidents or anything of the sort. Everything is literally just fine. We’re chilling, even.”

“You cannot be chilling on a boat. Boats are death traps. Get him back on land. Now.”

“Emmet, porca puttana,” Briosa said gently, “Adesso ti corco di botte.”

“Do not speak tongues at me.”

“It takes thirty minutes to get back to shore,” she continued in a much sterner tone: “Then it takes ten more to walk back to Nimbasa. Your brother will be safe and sound at the station in forty minutes at best and forty-five at worst. So you will calm your anemic Sudowoodo ass down this instant or when I get back to work tomorrow the first thing I do will be waterboarding you in the bathroom sink.”

Please do not do that, Ingo thought but sagely did not say out loud.

A beat of tense silence passed between them; then he heard his twin sigh loudly.

“Verrry sorry,” he mumbled. “I am Emmet. I am tired. I panicked.”

“Fair. Go eat and you’ll feel better.”

“Soon. Please get off the boat.”

“We will! Tell your brother bye and then we’ll be on our way.”

She handed the XTransceiver back to Ingo, leaning down again as soon as it was not in her hands anymore.

He looked down at his brother with no shortage of concern: “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked softly.

Emmet nodded, though he looked a little exhausted - as though all that shouting had drained a lot of his energy: “I am Emmet. I am fine. Really. I just don’t like the boat. But don’t worry!” he reassured him quickly, “Briosa knows her way with them. You are safe. I’d like it if you came back, though. I’d feel much safer.”

“We will set sail for Driftveil right this moment, don’t worry,” Ingo replied. “I will be back to the station according to schedule! Please take care until then!”

“I will! Have a good trip back. Love you.”

“Love you too!”

The video feed cut off naturally, and the screen returned a vague reflection of Ingo’s characteristic frown. He turned to Briosa.

She continued to lay down, eyes closed, enjoying the warm sun.

He coughed gently in Mawile’s direction; the Fairy, also relaxing against the hull, turned to him with an inquisitive chirp.

“Are we not supposed to depart immediately?” he asked.

She stood back up and scampered to the side of her aidee’s chest, smacking her paw against her cheek. Once she had her attention, she quickly relayed the question.

“No.” Briosa replied without moving an inch.

“But you said it takes thirty minutes to return to shore,” Ingo argued. “We must leave this station quickly, or we will accumulate quite a delay.”

“The port is fifteen minutes away,” she replied.

Ingo blinked: “But you said thirty.”

“I lied.”

“Why so?”

“Gives us ten more minutes to stay here.”

“Don’t you mean fifteen?”

“Five minute headstarts never hurt anybody.”

“You have an interesting way of handling time.”

“Thanks.”

And so, they waited.

-

The man who waited for them on the pier seemed to be at least middle aged, although his brown hair without a single streak of silver could have suggested otherwise; he had glanced at the coming boat as he walked past the port, slowed down, done a double take, tilted his large white hat upwards in a surprised motion, and sauntered over to the incoming vessel with a smile that pulled at the laugh lines around his mouth – the sight of which reminded Ingo to pull up his facemask.

Briosa instantly bristled like an irritated Luxio.

“Well, howdy there,” the stranger greeted them once within talking distance.

“FUCK OFF YOU OLD CUNT,” she replied, “THAT’S MY SPOT.”

He raised his hands in a show of innocence, clearly taken aback by the volume: “Now there, ma’am–”

“SIR.” she stated firmly. Her small olive eyes were wide and still, laser focused on the man’s face with an intensity that would have crushed his bones and the kind of wrathful expression of an extraordinarily small Glalie.

He bowed his head slightly: “My mistake.”

(Ingo found this small exchange completely incomprehensible.)

“I didn’t mean to get y’all up in a fuss,” the other continued – he spoke with a very strange accent, as though he had picked up a second one and mixed it with a first one for so long that he couldn’t separate them anymore – and smiled gently at a very surprised Ingo: “I reckoned I saw a familiar face and thought of sayin’ hello is all.”

Was this a journalist? He didn’t look like one, but it would explain why the Substitute had gotten so riled up. As far as the public was concerned, the missing Subway Master was still possibly in Sinnoh; if it turned out he’d suddenly appeared in Unova, it would certainly stir up one hell of a media storm, and the tentative peaceful existence he’d been living up until now would have no doubt been annihilated.

 Unsure what to do, the amnesiac turned his eyes to Briosa.

She was squinting hard.

“I did not get a single bit of that,” she concluded. “I can’t read shit if you speak like you’re trying to hide that you’re still chewing lunch.”

Not being a hearing impaired person, it took the man a hot moment to understand what she meant.

That gave her ample time to reiterate, even louder: “FUCK OFF.”

“NOW there,” the stranger finally continued (opening his mouth a lot more to accommodate her, which certainly had An Effect on his accent) as he grabbed a hold of his headwear and tilted it downwards, perhaps in an attempt at covering his ears, “I don’t mean to cause trouble. I am a friend of that young man’s uncle.”

“CAN YOU PROVE THAT, HAT BOY?”

A green glint caught Ingo’s attention as the man sighed. That hue… The facets, the shape - but it couldn’t have been, no, there was no way. None at all. Simply–

(The warden reached out with a sort of misplaced hope.)

“Lian?”

The man looked at him, puzzled.

Ingo blessed the facemask for muffling his words.

He pointed at the gemstone perched upon the cream fabric: “That,” he explained, trying not to sound strangled, “Looks like a hisuian jasper. The stone.”

A hundred wrinkles creased the stranger’s face as it brightened with a smile.

“You remember this dusty piece of rock but not lil’ ol’ me?” he cawed out in the beginning of a laugh, more than elated by his words. He pulled off his hat for a moment with a wistful, almost nostalgic air, while Mawile hurriedly explained the situation to her aidee before she screamed at him to speak clearly again: “Ah, but you two were quite taken with it when you first saw me in person, I reckon that!”

He looked exactly like Lian. His hair was darker and his build stouter and his eyes harder and his skin paler and his nose bigger and his clothes completely different and his hat only vaguely similar, but he looked exactly like Lian.

His hand was warm in Ingo’s own, firm and steady as he shook once with practiced confidence, and he realized he’d automatically gone to meet it when he’d offered it.

“Name’s Clay,” he said. “This here city’s gym leader.”

Like Elesa! Somewhat less worried, the former conductor shook back: “It’s a pleasure to meet you again,” he said, relieved: “I’d introduce myself, but I have a feeling that would be redundant.”

“Unless there’s something new about yourself y’think I should know, I’m inclined to agree,” Clay replied easily, with a grin and the beginning of a laugh.

(No, Ingo decided very quickly, there was nothing he wanted to share.)

(Not now. Not ever, probably.)

(The warden still clung to the memory of Lian. What were the odds? That they would find someone of the Pearl clan, of the young man’s own family here? Perhaps it was a sign of sorts, trying to communicate something.)

(Perhaps it was some cruel trick of fate.)

(His palm was slowly dampening the kindly grip so very happy to see him.)

Ingo slipped out of the handshake with as natural a movement as he could while he carefully moved to stand on the pier: “I would love to get to know you better once more, but I am afraid today I am on a tight schedule,” he apologized: “My brother requires my presence shortly, and I would hate to upset him.”

“By the Dragons, don’t let me keep you then!” the gym leader reassured him, patting the side of his arm with almost as much strength as Briosa. “And don’t go lookin’ sheepish about that, I’ve got my own day all filled up… Mighty glad to have seen you again! And give Emmet my regards, would’ya?”

He watched the older man leave with a wide wave and a similarly wide smile, still huffing one or two raucous chuckles every now and then. His stout legs moved quickly down the port, past the boats and ships docking or leaving; then he crossed the bridge, and disappeared.

Briosa watched him pointedly, like a Braviary surveilling an intruder in its territory.

“So who was that?” she asked, sounding on edge.

Ingo blinked: “He is the gym leader,” he reassured her.

“Of what?”

He blinked again: “Driftveil City?”

“Huh. Really?”

“I… Did you… Not know?”

“No? Should I?”

The man stared at her for a brief moment.

“I was under the impression that you lived here?”

“I do. And?”

Now, he may not remember much in regards to modern times.

But he was pretty sure that a Gym Leader was someone that most people in the town in which the person in question operated were likely to know the existence of whether they actually wanted to or not.

A bagful of filleted fish unceremoniously dropped into his not exactly waiting arms, taking his mind off of the curious conundrum: “Go get yourself fish and chips,” Briosa ordered simply. “It’s almost midday and you should have lunch. Emmet too, probably, but you can get at least one free with this.”

“Oh - er, thank you,” the man replied: “Wouldn’t you want to have it for yourself?”

She shrugged: “I’m not hungry.”

Considering the voracious way she had eaten the majority of the Alomomola’s fins a little more than ten minutes ago, Ingo had his doubts on that, but kept them to himself: “Where can I find the fish and chips man?”

“Red food stand with FISH ‘N’ CHIPS written on it as big as a house.”

“Concise and evocative! Much like you tend to be in your speech.”

Briosa gave him a wide, square smile and signed back a very proud little thank you.

She shooed him off with a half wave goodbye, to which he replied with a gentlemanly dip on his hat; then, as he walked off and Mawile did a few stretching exercises after having sat crumpled like a boiled Clauncher or a roasted Tatsugiri for roughly the past hour, she got to work securing her boat to the pier so that it wouldn’t float away on its lonesome while she wasn’t looking.

Engrossed in the familiar motions as she was (and being very, very deaf), she only noticed the former Subway Master had traced his steps all the way back to her only when she turned around and subsequently almost kicked him across the face with a magnificent vertical split for the spook of seeing him so close out of nowhere.

Luckily, they both survived the mutually inflicted heart attack unscathed.

Emmet would have probably killed her otherwise.

Before she could wheeze an apology, Ingo dug a hand in a plastic bag that had suddenly appeared in his hand and thrust forward a small white container, its two half taped shut by a perhaps excessively long line of papery tape.

She looked at it with wide eyes, not making a single move to take it; so, the taller man pulled his facemask down and told her as clearly as he could: “Fish and chips!”

“Oh!” Briosa squeaked. Either he’d been really fast at ordering, or she was dang slow at mooring her boat – though both possibilities being contemporaneously true wasn’t unlikely, either. She still made no motion towards what she assumed was Ingo’s lunch, which he appeared to be excitedly showing to her awaiting approval like a kid who managed to order an ice cream all on their own for the first time without bursting into tears or hiding behind a chair when the pressure became too much to handle. “Good job. It’s really tasty, hope you enjoy it.”

The other remained perfectly still for a moment, much like her, before extending his arm a little closer to her: “For you,” he specified.

“What?”

“This one is for you.”

Her head shot forward, big broken nose almost bumping into the container while she regarded it with brand new bafflement.

Her gaze returned to Ingo: “For me?” she repeated, voice very high pitched.

He nodded.

“You didn’t have to! I told you to use that Alomomola to get yourself something!”

“I have mine and Emmet’s servings here,” and he shook the bag lightly, careful not to accidentally make an oily mess in there. “I wanted to repay you for inviting me on your boat! I had a very good time.”

Briosa seemed a little stunned. She grabbed the container in a careful, almost suspicious manner, her limbs moving a little stunted until her fingers were finally clasped around the white plastic: she regarded the flavorful package for a couple seconds once it was safely in her grip, still perplexed.

“I’ll share it with the lads,” she concluded at last.

Ingo nodded again: “Food shared with friends can be more enjoyable!”

Mawile translated him, since Briosa was still looking downwards and had completely missed the chance to read his lips; from her small face, she not only seemed to agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment, but also appeared a little exasperated.

Evidently he wasn’t the only one concerned with how much her aidee ate.

The Substitute twisted her mouth briefly, squinting hard and curling up her nose as though reflecting on the words very intently.

At last she faced Ingo again, flat lips curled into a square grin and voice so saccharine and honest that he could feel his teeth rotting as the phonemes left her tongue: “Thank you!”

The man tipped his hat at her again, hoping she could recognize his own smile.

-

Emmet walked into the control room stiffer than a block of cement.

His brother perked up from the chair he had been seated on while waiting for his twin and waved enthusiastically at him.

Softening immediately, Emmet waved back just as cheerfully.

They spent one entire minute waving in perfect silence.

Then Ingo, who must have grown restless from the quiet, raised his other arm and bellowed: “Emmet! I got you food!”

“I am Emmet! I appreciate the thought. I already have food, though. I told you.”

“It’s fish and chips!”

Oh FUCK yeah. “I am Emmet! I will accept the food regardless!”

“NOT inside of the control room!” Eloise shouted, pointing at him with a face that was torn between the wrath of the Dragons and a not particularly silent plea for mercy.

Vip twisted her nose, also grimacing in a terrible way: “Please, boss,” she added. “Last time Briosa brought some we had to call those high-end professional cleaners to get the odor out after three days.”

“Hm.” Emmet noted: “You are right. Better eat elsewhere.”

“LEAVE THE BREAKROOM UNBREACHED,” arose, from afar and shrill with terror, the voice of Depot Agent Hank, whose sense of smell was beyond keen and had been mauled into a delirium during the last incursion of the delicious stench typically emanated from fried tubers and ichthyic matter.

Hm. Also a fair request.

After briefly cycling through the few options remaining in terms for lunch spots, the Subway Master smiled a little wider: “Let’s go to the roof.”

“The roof?” his brother repeated.

“The roof,” he nodded back: “Open air. Smell won’t get caught anywhere.”

A loud array of relieved sighs blessed his choice.

Roof it was.

Ingo followed him diligently as they both made their way back to the elevator, seeming in truth a little curious.

“I had no idea we could go to the roof.”

“I didn’t mention it the first time. Didn’t think of it.”

“I take it it’s not a very popular spot amongst employees?”

“It is!”

“Oh!”

“We come up here sometimes. Good way to destress. Breathe in fresh air. Then back down! Just for a moment of rest.”

“I see. It would be easy to forget about mentioning it, then.”

“Yup. But now you get to see it. As a surprise. Are you excited?”

“I am!”

His brother grinned.

The clouds above them were sparse, but marvelously plump. An astigmatic who’d forgotten their glasses that day could have been led to believe that the biggest Cottonees in the history of Unova were currently leisurely making their way onto a new pasture via a stroll through the stratosphere.

Both twins watched them for a few seconds, the brims of their hats shielding them from the otherwise blinding sun.

Emmet searched in his uniform’s immense pockets, pulling out a couple sandwiches.

“Split?”

“Oh, gladly!”

They sat down near the railing as they got to work unpacking their lunch and handing each half of the food in their possession before finally chowing down, not speaking for a while – their hunger surprised them a little, but considering the morning the other brother must have had they concluded they couldn’t blame one another for being so focused on ravaging what they had.

They got done with the sandwiches first, eating them in a handful of massive bites. The fish and chips stunned them briefly when they opened the plastic containers and the fried aroma they had subjugated until now slammed directly into their noses, long enough for them to digest their appetizers: wisely, they decided that their impromptu picnic’s main course should have probably been enjoyed a little slower. And without the aid of gloves.

“How was it?” the Subway Boss asked as he carefully stripped his hands of the white cotton seconds away before he could soak it in grease. “The boat.”

Ingo blew on a fry before putting it in his mouth: “It was a pleasant experience,” he replied while he munched, palm raised to his mouth so he wouldn’t spit potato at his brother while talking: “I saw quite a few Frillish up close,, fed them kibbles, enjoyed the sun, and had some raw Alomomola fins as a snack.”

“Yum.”

“Yes, they were rather tasty! And with an interesting texture to boot.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

The tone was genuine enough, but Ingo couldn’t help but furrow his brow: “You did seem rather worried about it. Did you have an unpleasant trip on a boat yourself, or–”

His brother slurped up three fries at once, almost choking: “Oh – no no no. I am Emmet. I am just verrry afraid of the sea,” he explained a little embarrassedly. “I didn’t know. Briosa didn’t know either. She took me on her boat once. That’s how I discovered I don’t like the sea. I panicked. Started crying. Breathing hard. She took me right back. Haven’t been on a boat since.”

His twin’s eyes widened: “I had no idea!”

“It’s ok! I didn’t either. It’s a recent development.”

“Still, Briosa didn’t mention any of this to me! Though she did inquire if I would have been comfortable on a vast body of water before offering to take me on this excursion… Did she not do the same for you?”

“Nope! She’s lived in Driftveil her whole life. Lots of boats, and the sea at her door. Nobody’s afraid of the water there. Comes with the job. She didn’t even imagine it could have frightened me. I am verrry glad she asked you about it first! It makes me feel a bit more relieved.”

The breaded fish – Alomomola, likely, as Basculin was much tougher under the teeth – crunched pleasantly as they bit down on it. A nice breeze had picked up, and after meticulously licking their fingers clean they removed their hats before they could fly off of their heads and down into the streets of Nimbasa, inevitably getting crushed under a hundred busy feet or ending up held aloft by trembling hands like a relic before being auctioned for who knows how much on some online site where no one questioned where the sellers would get their wares.

“She’s an awfully strange woman,” Ingo mused.

“Man.” Emmet corrected.

“What?”

“Briosa is a man.”

(The small, extremely strange exchange between the Substitute and Clay suddenly made a lot more sense.)

“Oh! Thank goodness I never said anything to his face.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“She’s a man.”

“Oh, but the…?”

“Yup.”

“I see!” he gladly accepted a gulp from the water bottle offered to him, washing the oily flavor from his mouth before he could dig back in. “I had no idea…”

“It’s alright! A common mistake.”

“Thank you for telling me either way. I would’ve been mortified to make such a faux pas in her presence.”

His brother gestured reassuringly as he drank a little himself.

Ingo had another fry.

“She remains a strange man.”

“Yup, yup! Verrry weird. Nice, but verrry weird.”

“Did you know she had no idea there was a Driftveil City gym leader?”

Emmet sputtered pieces of fish everywhere with a bewildered expression.

“What,” he wheezed.

“When we arrived at the dock, we met Clay – he gives you his love, by the way–”

“Hm! How was he?”

“He was doing fine, it seemed! We spoke a little, it was lovely to be introduced to him again – but Briosa did not recognize him at all! She had no clue who he was! I assume she thought him a reporter, because the first thing she did upon seeing him was shouting obscenities at him to make him leave.”

“Oof. Poor Clay. Briosa goes hard on the insults.”

“Yes, I’ve had the chance to discover that.”

They snickered to themselves.

The sun was warm on their shoulders; the city mumbled and grumbled somewhere further away, all around them yet also completely severed from them.

Their appetites sated as the fried mixture of fish and tubers began settling at the bottom of the stomach with the weight of a concrete column, the twins stretched their arms and backs to fight against the grogginess that followed a satisfying lunch. Ingo pulled himself to his feet and paced leisurely around the roof, always careful to remain in Emmet’s sight. Hands cleaned and hat placed back on his head, he turned to the world beyond the petrol green tiles.

He could see the desert from here.

At least, a chunk of it. Tall rocky walls stretched forth, shielding the city from the onslaught of debris that seemed to never cease.

The route which crossed it was a stretch of dulled bronze, hazy from the sand lifted and thrown about by restless winds, interrupted in its middle by an elevated road and seemingly emerging from a long structure of crystalline glass and light turquoise metal that, on its other end, led into Nimbasa itself – connecting their antithetical worlds, so completely opposite from one another in every way and yet so geographically close. If he squinted he could begin to make out a large shadow beyond the granular storm, something squarish and dark: perhaps another city? Another haven from the heat and dunes, forcing the winds to billow and howl within the modern walls of a (mostly) man-made canyon?

He could not see the rest of it, nor the ruined castle Briosa had mentioned.

“Have we ever been to the desert?” he asked without looking away.

His brother hummed as he stood back up and walked to be at his side: “Nope. Uncle Alder comes from there, though. But we’ve never been there.”

“Alder?”

“I didn’t mention him?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Our uncle’s friend. Former Champion. Was born in the desert. Now he travels.”

“Former Champion!” Ingo mused. “We know a lot of powerful trainers, it seems.”

Emmet grinned: “Yup, yup! Happens when you’re verrry good at battling.”

The former Subway Boss smiled back, inclined to agree.

His eyes wandered back to the dark silhouette beyond the sandstorm.

“That’s Castellia City,” his brother informed him without even needing to be asked. “Verrry big. Verrry noisy.”

“Noisier than Nimbasa?”

“Worse! Too many people. Like rush hour at the Station, everywhere, all the time. Though Burgh is there too. Artist. Bug-type gym leader. Verrry nice. He livestreamed your rescue for us. But! He comes over, too. I can call him. We can have a fun time out. Us, Elesa and Burgh. Maybe battle! He’d be happy to see you.”

That would have been a welcome alternative to going to such an overwhelming place, Ingo reasoned.

Still, he couldn’t shake from his bones a certain antsy eagerness, a restless desire to explore. The wondrous nocturnal sights that had rushed past him on his so far only venture on a subway train still flashed against his eyelids sometimes, begging him to wander back into their once familiar unknown and reacquaint himself with it, make it his own again.

He wondered how much he’d once seen of the region. 

His hand gently gripped the railing.

“I would like that,” he replied truthfully. “And I would love to explore Unova as well.”

Emmet tried not to flinch and failed.

His brother’s hand moved to hold his, gently squeezing his palm to calm him down: “We can go together,” he offered. “It could be a journey of our own – you could be my chaperone! You might even use this occasion to pull the brakes and enjoy a short vacation. It’s been brought to my attention that you… You haven’t taken much time for yourself, in these past years.”

The other stiffened. He held his hand back nonetheless.

“Can’t,” he wheezed at last. “I… Too short notice. I need to plan… New shifts, and schedules, and… I don’t – I don’t, want. To. To…”

“Leave the station so suddenly?”

That wasn’t what he meant; Ingo knew that. Emmet swallowed: “Yes.”

The older twin massaged his knuckles comfortingly: “I wouldn’t want to derail your routine so drastically, then. But I do wish to explore Unova. I was planning on taking short treks through it, just to enjoy the scenery. Certainly the subway touches picturesque locations on its many winding rails?”

He was planning to visit him in the Station after each trip, to reassure him he had not vanished again as soon as he had taken his eyes off of him.

It was a sweet sentiment, dripping with earnest intentions; but there would have still been long, impossibly long stretches of time between their parting in the morning and those reunions, and he would have had to wait through those terrible moments just like he’d had to wait for someone, anyone, to call him again and tell him something – even something as terrible as ‘I’m sorry’.

“Remember safety checks,” he recited quietly, as their uncle would recite to Alder: “Bring water and snacks. And bandaids. Cover your head. Keep your XTransceiver charged. Call often. Set the number for emergencies to be dialed in case of damage.”

“I can do that?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have the time to show me how to? It would be better to get it done right now, no matter what my plans might be.”

Emmet sniffed and nodded. A weight lifted itself from his chest.

They sat down, tinkering on the device together.

[tori-isss-dying]

I was stressing about my drama exam and my dad said “fear does not exist in this dojo, does it?”

[aschen-kiln]

DEFEAT DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS DOJO

FEAR DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS DOJO

PAIN DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS DOJO

STRIKE FIRST

STRIKE HARD

NO MERCY

COBRA KAI NEVER DIES !

[serendipitysparks]

Kenshin Himura – The Dissociative Identity and Trauma Survivor

Psychological Framework: Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

Kenshin’s backstory involves extreme trauma, the loss of loved ones, and a morally compromised existence as an assassin. This trauma manifests in a dissociative identity, where Kenshin, during his time as the Hitokiri Battosai, exhibited a form of dissociation. The character's "alter ego" (Battosai) represents a compartmentalized personality created as a defense mechanism against unbearable trauma, leading to violent acts that he does not fully remember or acknowledge until later. This dissociative state is intertwined with PTSD, a condition in which the individual frequently relives the trauma, resulting in hypervigilance and a deep sense of guilt.

As Kenshin experiences flashbacks of his violent past, his dissociation becomes clearer: the transition between his peaceful persona and the ruthless Battosai is psychologically triggered by stress, or threats, reminding him of past atrocities. Kenshin's journey of redemption involves working through the trauma and integration of his personality into a unified self, aided by therapy-like experiences (though without a formal therapist). This process highlights his battle with dissociative amnesia (not remembering certain events) and self-blame, which are common in trauma survivors.

Kaoru Kamiya – Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Healing

Psychological Framework: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), Attachment Theory

Kaoru, as a trauma-informed character, serves as a grounding force for Kenshin. Her psychology can be explored through the lens of Attachment Theory, where her emotional stability is tied to her relationship with her father, Kenshin, and the community. Her background in running the Kamiya Kasshin-ryu dojo allows her to serve as a metaphor for healing and emotional regulation, guiding others to confront their fears and trauma.

Kaoru can help Kenshin through the process of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), where she challenges Kenshin’s maladaptive thoughts, such as feelings of unworthiness and the belief that he cannot change his past. By changing Kenshin’s internal narrative (a technique common in CBT), Kaoru contributes significantly to his ability to process his cognitive distortions—the tendency to view situations in an unrealistic and catastrophic manner, especially regarding his worthiness of redemption.

Sanosuke Sagara – Self-Concept and Identity Crisis

Psychological Framework: Existential Psychology, Identity Development

Sanosuke embodies the conflict between self-concept and external identity. He was once a member of the Sekihoutai, a group of rebels fighting for a cause, but after their fall, he faces an identity crisis. His previous identity as a soldier is shattered, and he struggles to find a new sense of purpose in a society that no longer values him. The complex process of self-actualization (as described by Maslow) is central to his development, as he learns to reconcile his past with his present and pursue personal growth beyond mere physical violence.

Sanosuke's journey involves confronting his existential fears of being insignificant, his struggle with meaninglessness, and how to develop a coherent narrative about his life after the rebellion. Over time, Sanosuke finds meaning not in conflict but in companionship, purpose, and redemption.

Yahiko Myojin – Developmental Psychology and Growth

Psychological Framework: Erikson’s Stages of Psychosocial Development

Yahiko, a young boy from a difficult background, serves as a metaphor for the challenges and complexities of adolescence. As a character, Yahiko's evolution is explored through Erikson's Stages of Psychosocial Development, particularly during the stage of Industry vs. Inferiority (age 6-12), where he seeks competence and mastery in his martial arts. His emotional development is tested as he transitions from a child seeking acceptance and love to an individual understanding the value of self-worth.

Yahiko's growth parallels the struggles many adolescents face—his constant push for autonomy and independence is symbolized by his training, which allows him to establish his identity outside of Kenshin’s influence. His development is not just about physical skills but also about learning how to establish meaningful relationships and navigate emotional maturation.

Makimachi Misao – Borderline Personality and Emotional Regulation

Psychological Framework: Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Emotional Dysregulation

Misao’s characterization can be explored through Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). She demonstrates symptoms of emotional dysregulation, a core feature of BPD. She experiences intense feelings of abandonment and instability in her relationships. Misao’s impulsive actions and rapid shifts in mood (from anger to affection) are signs of her emotional reactivity—a characteristic of the disorder.

Misao’s trauma—losing loved ones and being left to fend for herself—compounds her emotional volatility. Her desire for validation and attachment becomes the driving force behind many of her actions. Through her journey, she must learn emotion regulation and develop healthier coping mechanisms, often through the supportive relationships she forms with others, including Kenshin and the group.

Shishio Makoto – Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Power Dynamics

Psychological Framework: Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), Psychopathy

Shishio represents the dark side of the human psyche, and his psyche can be analyzed through the lens of Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). His belief in his superiority, along with a lack of empathy and intense need for admiration, drives him toward destructive goals. His ability to manipulate others, his grandiose sense of self, and his lack of remorse for his actions align with psychopathy and narcissistic tendencies.

Shishio’s trauma, while less explored in the series, can be understood as a deeply internalized sense of inferiority stemming from early-life neglect or abuse, which he compensates for with ruthless ambition. His journey to obtain power is driven by a profound sense of personal inadequacy despite his outward display of strength, illustrating the interplay between narcissistic rage and grandiosity.

[myloveforhergoeson]

12. How does your character react to change or unexpected situations? Are they adaptable or resistant?

for all ur ocs :> most to least adaptable?

ohhh god this is actually so hard! they're all quite resilient but for different reasons

the most, purely because her life depends on it the most goes to althea, my young justice oc! in being a super hero, she needs to be ready for literally anything that might be thrown her way! she's pretty level headed in unexpected situations (on the battlefield at least!) and is hella adaptable. althea also has a really strong support group in the young justice team and (some) of the justice league! she's ready to take on any role the team needs her to!

next, also by necessity comes hisui, my dr stone oc! going from nothing but stone tools and fire to building literal spacecraft in a matter of half a decade is... a lot. to say the least. her days are ever changing, from new enemies, new allies, new crazy technological advances she could never even dream of.... as long as she gets to write about it and document the historic journey she and her friends are undertaking, she's always up for the challenge! she loves being so impressed it feels like her mind is being blown, and that happens daily with the crew she hangs out with lol!! they also act as a very strong support system for her as well, making adapting far easier for her :3

next i'm putting izel, my cobra kai oc, on this list. grounded in reality now LOL! her story is one of resiliency as well, escaping the hands of an abusive father with her mother and sister. having to move from mexico city to the san fernando valley was a huge change. now she's helping raise a toddler while her mother works around the clock to keep them supported, trying to balance her passion - folklorico - with the toubles of school work and a *checks writing on my hand* teenage karate war.... my girl's been though many many ups and downs but only comes out stronger! over time, her miniscule support system only grows as she makes more friends in san fernando and the dojo drama starts to get patched up!

next im putting my btr oc karver - he's pretty good about change and the unexpected generally. however, having to move from ny to la really threw him off his game. it's been harder for him to adapt since moving, considering most of his support system either acts like he doesn't exist or lives halfway across the country. his scales tip far more often than my other characters do; he's facing more unpleasant thoughts about his current situation than most :(

next is miss roxy, btr oc, who is generally good with change as long as she's able to anticipate it. there is so much unexpectedness to living around the boys, she's grown quite used to their situations ending up alright in the end. that doesn't make it any less of a challenge for her to work through though LMAO. as seen in the last chapter of tasw, she can be quite the crash out queen when things don't go her way - or as she wants them to - after trying and trying and trying to find the best solution. her scales tip about 60 adaptable/40 resistant i'd say but she's got a pretty good support system to help her out (when they're not all FIGHTING)

and finally..... oh daisy-mae.... btr oc who is NOT good with ANYTHING unexpected WHATSOEVER. it spikes her anxiety in the moment, depression in the long term, and if enough shit piles on she's just down for the count i fear ... the silver lining is she's generally pretty adaptable as long as she's got her grandparents, brother, or kana around to help her out. otherwise, she's very much a freeze and wait for it all to be over gal :((

sooo... tldr - althea, hisui, izel, karver, roxy, daisy hehe <333

tysm for the ask love!!!! i always appreciate your support sm <333

[miyagi-hokarate]

(Shows up late with boba tea) WHAT A SEASON AMIRITE FELLAS?

Random assortment of season 6 part 1 thoughts:

(tl;dr: not a lot of satisfaction with this season for me. Lots of spoilers and sarcasm under the cut ahfksjfjdkg. )

we still haven't gotten that goddamn fun Lawrusso spar 😩

Okay jokes aside, I'm...not a fan of this season :/

A lot of things felt off, like the characters (more on that specifically later) to the plot progression

Of the things I liked, Sam and Tory's developing relationship — especially them having a dialogue together — was incredibly refreshing and felt good to see grow!

Tory's character in general surprised me and it felt much stronger than in previous seasons!!! Of all the potential flashbacks, a Tory-centered one was serendipitous

I also liked that Robby won the role of being team leader!! Much of his character had been centered on guidance, both receiving and giving it, and it makes the most sense narratively to give him that ultimate chance to prove himself as a leader, being one who is meant to be one half to represent the skill and prowess of his dojo

As FRUSTRATING as some things were; Daniel and Johnny butting heads, Devon doing everything in her power to earn her spot in the Sekai Taikai (even resorting to cheating), Tory lashing out after the loss of her mother; these were all to me understandable conflicts that didn't feel forced or like pulling teeth (especially Tory. I'm so sorry girl 🫂)

RETURN OF SHAWWWWN

DUTCH MENTION!!!!!!

AISHA MENTION!!!!!!

Okay...hater moment fr now...

A lot of everything else I have some problem with or feel strongly indifferent to; the Sekai Taikai (but there's no stopping that, so I'm just :/ whatever), Mr. Miyagi's secret, Daniel and Johnny butting heads (yes, I know, repeating myself...), Johnny in general, everything about the fucking baby, everything about Sensei Kim and her students. Arhagrggagrggfhgh

AS I FEARED, I'm not a fan of the contents and fallout of Mr. Miyagi's secret box. Oh great, Mr. Miyagi's dark secret was that he committed crimes and was involved with the Sekai Taikai or something. What shock. I can't believe Mr. Miyagi hurt people and hide that from Daniel. Can you hear my thick and heavy sarcasm.

I don't know if the rest of the fandom had learned to love the Big Twist or whatever, but I still don't see that box as anything more than a cheap plot twist. Its existence is practically pointless with what we, the audience, and Daniel know about Mr. Miyagi; we KNOW he's already hurt people in his dark and mysterious past, even people who may not have deserved it. He was drafted into war by the US army because the country would rather Mr. Miyagi would die as a soldier than live as an American for god's sake. Mr. Miyagi is already weighed by the horrors of his actions — actions Daniel himself had learned that didn't make Mr. Miyagi a villain, or a hero, or a tale of woe; they were all done by a man who was human, who made mistakes and who felt regret in his actions. Am I shocked that Mr. Miyagi could have committed crimes in the interim years between internment and The Karate Kid? No, but it feels transparent that the purpose of Mr. Miyagi's box has more to do with the twist of him participating in the Sekai Taikai than anything as profound as what has already been Mr. Miyagi's backstory introduced in The Karate Kid

What is there to say about Daniel and Johnny that hasn't been said already. This is like their hundredth karate divorce. Pick another method of foreplay it's getting old

There were parts that I actually commend Johnny for reacting maturely for; cooperating with Daniel and Chozen about the dojo name; keeping his temper in check when the realtor insults him; but MAN does no one fumble the ball as hard as Johnny does otherwise. Not all of it is painfully incomprehensible, but Jesus what was up with him this season. You have a baby (💀) coming your way. Act like it

Speaking of the baby 😒 I still don't like it. It just...it's still such a disappointing way to try and progress the characters of Johnny, Carmen, Miguel, Robby, etc. That opening shot of that fucking onesie was despicable. It's watching Miguel and Robby smile and laugh through this wackass development still. It's watching Johnny seemingly preparing for a growing family in spite of the countless evidence to everything that would make him ill-prepared. It's the fact Carmen is stuck being Mom of Miguel, Love Interest of Johnny, and now Mom of this new kid. Carmen ESPECIALLY gets the short end of the goddamn stick in terms of characterization regarding this, because she barely has any 😩😩 I know it's too late to be complaining about this baby but AUGH. I hate this

Another thing I hate is how WEIRD Cobra Kai is with its Asian characters — with Sensei Kim, Master Kim, their students, and (I can't believe I'm saying this) Kyler in particular. The show has always had this problem, with the double standards of Kyler stuck as a static bully character while others are allowed to grow nuance and development and abusive Dragon Lady Sensei Kim, but the introduction of Korean Fu Manchu in the form of Master Kim and a mass of intimidating and equally nameless karate students training ruthlessly in the blue-tinted woods of South Korea really hammer in the odd racial subtext

In a similar topic, did anyone else find it incredibly weird how Kyler was made to eat off the floor by those frat bros? I don't know if I'm reading too much into it, but it felt uncomfortable on such a different level than any other method of bullying shown in the show. It's never said why the frat bros target Kyler so much, and the only difference I could really make of is how Kyler easily defers to follow if in the face of aggressive leadership. And that he's Asian

I fucking hate that US flag mohawk and I am so mad that Eli is allowed to represent Miyagi-Do Karate in that goddawful thing I am being so serious right now

I'm sure I have other thoughts floating in my head that I can't recall, but here these are ahfjakdhjajd. I wish I could say I'm excited for part 2 arriving this November, but in much of the same way, the strongest emotion I feel is Dread

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Richie says that ‘fear does not exist in that dojo’ and all I can think is how he was prescribed Xanax in season 1 for ‘anxiety and dread’ and then it’s never mentioned again. But it makes sense, he realises he’s good at something, that he likes doing something and makes it his purpose, he makes FOH his safespace where he’s capable and genuinely confident and respected and it’s messed with and taken away. We see him wear down in season 3, he gets tired in a way we’ve never seen much before, we see more of the Richie we see outside of work, when he’s on the phone to Eva or calling Tiff. And it’s something to be said that in season 3 his whole deal is trying to sort his life out outside of work because it’s probably easier to put stuff away when you spend most of your time at work and work is some kind of safespace for your self esteem because you know your stuff there. 

But it’s also something to be said how this melds together and we almost see a warped version of who he was when we were introduced to him in season 1. He’s comfortable at the Bear now, like he was comfortable at the Beef, but his personal life is messed up and it’s getting harder to separate feelings outside and inside work. He’s angry in season 1 and resistant to change because his entire life has changed over the last 6 months. He’s tired in season 3 because he’s trying to change and become a better person but things are constantly changing around him so he doensn’t know the parameters. FOH is changed, the menu’s changed, his safespace is changing and becoming somewhere he’s not comfortable with but instead of being angry (he’s angry at Carmy but that’s personal that bleeds into personal when they’re arguments kick off) he’s tired because it’s happening again, his life is changing and seemingly getting worse (if we go on the assumption that the review was bad and Jimmy’s funding is going) again and he doesn’t know if he can keep up anymore

[sheinthatfandom]

It’s Double or Nothing weekend and you know what that means……. MY PPV HOPES AND PREDICTIONS!!!! Cause you know I’m super fair impartial and unbiased just like our wonderful EVPs😇

Under the cut cause it’s a lot

Yellow is who I want green is who I think will be booked to win

Now for the buy in they only added this photo

Which is beautiful and Imma share it so

Thunder Vs Deonna: I got no clue honestly. I’ve missed the build up to this. If this is an ongoing feud give it to deonna with shenanigans if this is gonna pave the way for a title end run than give it to thunder

Orange vs Trent: I want orange to win he’s lost everything in his mind doesn’t see that he still has people around him who cares to him he lost Chuck and so he’s lost it all. This is his widowers arc and with callis pushing him a win can make Don act as though he’s the reason for the win and get in oranges head even more. Trent has been winning and this could be another mail in the pushing Trent coffin to aim him toward eventual gold.

Iwgp championship- Mox vs takesita: I do not know the new Japan rules I know many fans are angry but I also know many fans just hate aew so I can not take what’s said in good faith. Also kayfabe is still alive and well so even the stuff wrestlers say I’m like…. Your company did this books this and signs off on it so I’m gonna assume this is kayfabe world building. That said this isn’t for the belt but for a future opportunity for it against whoever is champion after moxs next title defense. So I’d love for it to be Takeshita one the loss won’t hurt mox 2 Takeshita was with ddt not new Japan but callis was and possible is still working with new Japan so more possible story lines and opens up konosuke to start feuding with new Japan guys who are now angry at this opportunity and give him feuds for forbidden door and rebuild him as a powerhouse for when he gets aew gold.

Aew/roh tríos championship- Bang bang gang va death triangle: I know I know okay aew loves death triangle lenta and fénix are an incredible team and pac is a beloved monster I get that. I see the vision aew wants me to see BUT bang bang gang is fun and they’re my silly little gremlin guys and they just beat the acclaimed to get all these belts and now they use the little wagon to wheel it all down to the ring it’s hilarious it’s fun and I need more fun in my wrestling. Plus the boys are doing so well in their promos now like no let them keep cooking. They can even win by shenanigans I’m FINE with that. In fact I’d prefer it. Let my goofy guys win PLEASE.

Ftw championship- Hook vs Chris vs shibata: I want shibata but wil also take hook. I hate that an I hate the learning tree gimmick he needs to go home for 6 months and give me a fucking break. Shibata should never lose he is literally THAT wrestler THAT mf! Matter fact let Joe interrupt and take the Ftw belt. Now no one gets it.

Tnt championship- cope vs black: between the misting the blood cope becoming more and more unhinged he’s gonna win this and idk if he’ll join job/take it over if black doesn’t resign OR and this is my hope he makes his own spooky group pr does his own spooky thing and be a fucking nightmare to the “normal people” roster and the house can win just by him and his spooky existing again kinda like skye

Aew international championship: strong vs Ospreay: did you see that promo? The only way he doesn’t win (and I say this because I am traumatized by the fed) is if it’s to punish him for talking bout/defending ricochet. But tk has never given me a reason to think he’s that damn petty and if anything he’s proven unable to pivot from his original plans.

Aew women’s world championship- Toni vs deeb: she’s got no character, she’s wishy washy on the character she does have, she has no crowd support, she’s got no charisma, and every time she mentions having a fucking dojo I fear what her husband is doing to any young girls she brings around him. This Toni’s it’s not even a question. And instead of these useless boring feuds they need to bring back Toni’s movies and build Mariah up as a serious contender if we really aren’t gonna have hayter come back before all out. And build up both thunder and deonna over again and show them on dynamite and collision cause I don’t watch rampage. Also it’s the women’s world championship and it’s not even in the triple main events

Anarchy in the arena- elite vs team aew? I see the vision I know what they were going for I appreciate the Jackson’s and tk for always trying to see the best in people but the moment ftr was the chosen first members of team aew they lost me. They got me back with Bryan (creator of bcc and part of the committee who freed up from the punk fuckery) and then eddie ( who I wonder if he actually knows wrestling isn’t real sometimes) but now idk someone said if Andrade and Cody were available they woulda been added to team aew and honestly I see it. The legitimacy lost with ftr is staggering. It’s probably gonna be ftr but I really hope the elite win and clean that loss from all out.

Tbs championship- willow vs mone: I get it Mercedes is the bigger star hell she’s one of the biggest stars in the world so why wouldn’t you put the belt on her? Especially the tv title and have her on screens every week and too busy to go after the main title. But… I like willow better and I’d like for her to be able to say to Mercedes I beat you twice now bitch and stokely to try and do the nana dance before kris hits her with the belt. And then Mercedes can go be ceo with the elite.

Aew world championship- swerve vs Christian: my champion is black and that ain’t changing!

[maguro13-2]

What happens after the release of Warioware's new game?

Wario : What a day for a vacation after the release of Warioware Move It. I just hope that Waluigi suspect that he supposed to lookout for the house. Well, at least we're back at our hometown of...

*RECORD SCRATCH*

Wario : What the...?!

(We show the ruins of Diamond City after it was completely destroyed)

Wario : Oh no. Diamond City. My beautiful hometown Diamond City! What happened?! Who destroyed the beloved hometown of me!?

Waluigi : Hey, Wario. You cameback from your vacation with the crew. Something went wrong.

Wario : Oh my God! Waluigi! Waluigi! speak to me, man! What happened here?!

Waluigi : I knew that something bad happened to Diamond City, and it was attacked by an invasive group that really knows to the wreck the place.

Wario : That's impossible! *BOING* WHAT THE F***?! (Sees Ashley's mansion covered with graffiti and toilet paper) Ashley Mansion has been vandalized! Covered with graffiti and 4-plys of toilet paper! Nooooo!

Red the Demon : Who's gonna clean up this mess they caused?! *BONK* Hey, isn't that...

Dr Cryor : My lab! My lab! What happened to my lab!? It's gone! It has all our inventions and gadgets!

9-Volt : And all our collection of video games have been samshed! I play smash in our entire lives and now i’m never gonna play!

Jimmy T : Club Sugar's washed up and done for!

Mona : My restaurant, Mona Pizza, is ruined!

Kat : Our dojo has been destroyed!

Orbulon : At least my spaceship is fine.

Dribble : Not quite tho. (Orbulon reads something on the back of his ship) Look at the back of your ship.

Orbulon : What's this? "Wowie Zowie, Orbulon! Your ship looks incredible and is the shape of an animal that eats or smells nothing but...PORK BUTT"!? [Furious] Why I ought to...

Wario : Who really done it this time!? Who would go and wreck the entire place!?

Talking Flower : Hey there, garlic-eating man that runs a microgame company. Nice place you got there.

Wario : You! So you're the one that ransacked my hometown didn't you after we went on vacation for the exercise classes! How can you even think about destroying one's property!? One's property!

Talking Flower : Oh yeah. That would be my buddies that is really liking the town that existed in the Super Mario verse, hope that we didn't mind turning this town into a tourist trap you know.

Ashley : Oh, really? How can you expect from a talking idiot like me? If you really destroyed the place we lived in, that's on you for your flower buddies, I would definitely granting someone to hell for that matters.

Talking Flower : Wowie Zowie, Ashley! I guess your much of an edgy person than you think. I guess my buddies will have to prove to the talking of your gothic life.

Ashley : Oh is that so? You and what army?

Penny Crygor : Ashley, no! Don't ask him that!

Talking Flower : What army? What army? How about this army!

(The Warioware group are surrounded by an army of talking flowers)

Ashley : Oh crap.

Penny Crygor : Never ask the questions "who and what army"!

Talking Flower : Sorry, Wario. Guess we misfortuned about your hometown being a total wreckage we caused. So sorry for having this way in a fairly manner, I'd might say. We did make the people of Diamond City go crazy and caused chaos all over it. What are you gonna do now, you garlic greedy goomba?

[DBZ SFX : POWERING UP]

Wario : [chuckles] If you're really that clever for a talking flora garbage, then I assure one thing that you'll never like it....

Talking Flower : [cower in fear] W-W-W-What's that?

Wario : It's called "You're missing the point".

Talking Flower : Wowie Zowie! Holy sh****t! Is he doing the Vegeta Sacrifice thing?! WOWIE MOTHERF***ING ZOWIE!!! He's absolutely to go Kamikaze attack on us!!!

Mona : Wait. He doesn't remember doing that! He's going to kill us all if he does that from Majin Buu!

Ashley : Majin Buu? What Majin Buu? What are you ...(now realizing) Oh God.

Wario : [furiously] RRRAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH!!

[DBZ SFX : ENERGY EXPLOSION]

Wario : Well, I guess that's taking care of that. At least that we all had a great vacation.

Talking Flower : Oh really? That was really quite a performance back there! I never thought you were able to pull off that stunt like that!

Wario : You! How are you still alive?! I just had you blown away in a kamikaze style!

Talking Flower : Oh I don't know. The truth is we all died because of you! At least it's nice in here that they had to chain us up for destroying the super Mario Universe.

[It is revealed that the Warioware crew except for Ashley and Talking Flower are in Hell, being chained up]

Mona : Nice going, Wario! You brought us to a place where bad people had to suffer and tormented.

Red the Demon : Oh hey, this is where I originally came from. My dad works here and he's the demon king.

Ashley : What a surprise, I granted everyone and including kids in hell. Am I the only one that is smart enough to do this?

Wario : [to Waluigi, laughs nervously] Sorry about that, Waluigi. At least hell isn't so bad after the Vacation.

Waluigi : Oh no, it's a way better vacation over here, in hell of course! Well, you can say Warioware has been a major asset to the Super Mario Universe that has been like this for 23 years.

Red the Demon : Oh, hey, look my dad's coming to meet. Hi, dad. These are the guys I work for.

Wario and Waluigi : His dad?!

Wario : Ashley, you don't mean that Red's father is...

Ashley : True that. He's the demon king, ruler of hell.

Wario : Oh boy...

[Red's father appears to be a muscular demon king]

Waluigi : Wow! I never seen a demon who's that ripped.

Penny Crygor : Totally. Hello, father of Red the Demon. We are currently in hell for no reason, I'm Penny Crygor and this is my girlfriend, who she granted us in hell.

Talking Flower : Oh boy.

Red's Father : ....So, you just had to go Kamikaze on the planet, didn't you?

Wario : [in sniper's voice] Ah...piss!

Talking Flower : [sarcastically] Wowie Zowie, man. [In a sly look] Wowie-Zowie.

[Iris shot]

Ashley : It took me years to grant someone to hell for this.

[Iris out]

~ DON'T GO KAMIKAZE ON THE PLANET ~

[miyazakit]

Human is a status of simplicity. A foetal form before the discovery that there is more to be unveiled about the world than accepting a fallacious existence. A deferent life. Miyazaki is nothing if not observant in his silences. Attuned to every word as it bleeds into his air. She talks about survival and instinct. He would educate her that no creature enters this world with fear. Childlike wonder does not come with restraint, it is a poor lesson taught from fearful elders. Passed down generations, until they know nothing else but the hungers of a realm they are too paranoid to take for themselves. There is no room for error to linger longer than the lesson it teaches.

Tetsuya does not drag a dead man through the doro, he may remain there. It is where they would all rest at the end of it all, whether they lived by cowardice, or grief or something other that condemns them to a sheltered, pitiful life. A waste.

Even Tetsuya knows the taste of mortality, now.

Is she permitting herself to be in the gilded cage her bloodline has cursed her to survive within? Does she have the power to bend the bars — better yet, believe she could.

What is so wrong with wanting more?

Nothing.

Tetsuya's eyes narrow, a smile creeping up at the corner of a usually stoic mouth. She says it with new certainty, but does she truly believe it? Does her lungs swell with new energy, unrestricted by the chains of her sofu?

"Never be less." A firm statement that pierces through the quiet of his thoughts. More assertive than his earlier queries; his probing to know a little more about the witch with the magic she fears. The kind that did not salvage her path; to be walked with a limp, but aided by another form of her power. Miyazaki had tasted a slither of it in the walls of her cane when he'd swept it from her hands. Returned it in its same state. A gesture of respect that is bone deep.

He could spend minutes convincing her, schooling her in knowledge and power and what it means and what is does not. But Tetsuya likes to know what appetites are lying dormant inside a new prospect. They must discover that without coercion. He does not need to drag her ancestors through his teachings. Just her. If she is both decisive and steadfast in her desire.

"Goju dojo." No kindness. There is no shadow of it in his being, "Respect. Strength. Resilience." The beginnings of a powerful mage. "You will be intransigent, made tenacious. But it is not for the weak."

She can decide if that is something she can see for herself. The choice lies bare between them, as Miyazaki nods; a glimmer of discipline that the witch would learn, did she come to his door. Before he leaves her to her cove.

Shit. There were a lot of ways she could answer this question. It was likely none of them would satisfy him. But did it really matter if her answer satisfied him? What was she getting from this encounter anyways. Appearing from nowhere, she doesn’t know his name and he is making her question the man that raised her? It was sad she could be so easily made to question someone so important to her. But she knew something had to change.

“I think they are human, I think they are flawed. I don't think having a weakness and being weak are the same thing. Everyone has a weakness, everyone is flawed. Whether they want to admit it or not. It’s natural. It’s about the choices you make in spite of those things. My grandfather wasn’t weak for being afraid… fear is a completely natural survival instinct.” She waits a moment before continuing.

“I think near the end he just got so overwhelmed, it was like an illness. Old age and grief just ran its course. He wasn't always like that.” The memory was on loop in her head. Her mind picked at it like chipped paint. She sat back down on the log, an elbow to her knee and her chin in her palm.

How determined was she? It depended on what it was she was reaching for. She thinks about herself for a moment. Times when she had been determined. What it felt like. She thinks about late nights hunched over books, studying until sunrise when she wanted to understand something. She thinks about hours spent at a piano until her fingers couldn’t move. She thinks about crawling through ash and mud. She knows what determination feels like, she knows it's different intensities. But how was she supposed to put it into words? Anyone can say they want something. 

“I’m more determined than you probably think. I’m probably more determined than I think. I'm still here right? That has to count for something. I could have rolled over. I didn't. And what's so wrong with wanting more? Trying to be less didn't even fucking work. At this point it feels like I'm owed a little more.” It felt like she was saying forbidden words.

Juniper didn’t know what to expect when she came out this evening but this was hardly it. And now what? She looked over at the mysterious witch. Nameless. Odd. His face was young but the way he held himself was old, the way he spoke was old. He said she needed a teacher. Juniper agrees. If she answered his questions would he point her in a helpful direction? Or was he simply here to mock her sorry state?  

“Why are you even asking? Morbid curiosity? I doubt it's out of the kindness of your heart. What's your angle?"

[cecilburton1]

Cecil Burton on Karate and Emotional Balance - Finding Harmony in a Hectic World

Cecil Burton - Rockford City in Illinois

In our contemporary, bustling society, achieving a sense of harmony and emotional stability often appears daunting. With the perpetual pressures of professional commitments, familial responsibilities, and daily obligations, it's not uncommon to feel swamped and detached from our own essence. Yet, there exists a martial art that has been empowering individuals to foster internal balance for hundreds of years: Karate. As Cecil Burton emphasizes, this time-honored practice does more than merely enhance physical prowess—it nurtures the mind and soul, creating a path towards tranquility amidst disorder.

Karate is more than just a physical exercise; it is a way of life. Rooted in Japanese tradition, this martial art emphasizes the importance of emotional and mental balance as much as physical prowess. In a world that often seems to prize power and competition, Karate's philosophy encourages its practitioners to focus on self-improvement, self-control, and respect for others. It's a journey of personal growth that extends beyond the dojo (training hall) and into daily life.

The core principle of Karate revolves around self-mastery. This martial art starts with the fundamental element of "kata," a set of choreographed movements that forms the basis of training. These carefully crafted sequences impart not only physical maneuvers but the principles of equilibrium, rhythm, and mental concentration. Kata is performed repeatedly by practitioners who aim for perfection - a concept that transcends flawless execution and encapsulates understanding the harmony between mind and body. As Cecil Burton knows too well, this facet of Karate is its essential nature.

One of the key aspects of Karate is its emphasis on emotional control. In the heat of battle, whether it's in a tournament or a real-life self-defense situation, keeping a cool head is essential. The discipline teaches individuals to manage their fear, anger, and anxiety, and channel these emotions into focused, deliberate action. The goal is not to eliminate these feelings but to harness their energy and use them in a constructive way.

In the practice of Karate, the journey towards mastery is a long and committed one, requiring persistent dedication and effort over the span of years. This gradual progression instills a sense of patience and humility within the practitioners, thereby reinforcing the significance of consistent hard work and perseverance. This ethos stands in stark contrast to the prevailing culture of immediate gratification in contemporary society, where the propensity often leans towards seeking quick fixes and shortcuts. As highlighted by Cecil Burton, Karate embodies the antithesis of this culture.

Respect is another core tenet of Karate. In the dojo, practitioners bow as a sign of respect to their instructors and fellow students. This simple gesture symbolizes the humility and recognition of the knowledge and experience that others bring. Beyond the physical training, this culture of respect encourages empathy and understanding, fostering emotional intelligence.

The emphasis on respect extends to the practice of sparring or "kumite." In Karate, it's not about defeating an opponent but testing one's abilities and learning from the experience. Through controlled sparring, practitioners learn to read their opponents' movements and emotions, enhancing their ability to adapt and respond effectively. It's a valuable skill that can be applied to real-life situations, helping individuals navigate conflicts with understanding and empathy.

Karate also promotes mindfulness, which is an essential component of emotional balance. When practicing kata, the focus on breath control and body awareness promotes a meditative state that clears the mind of clutter and stress. This mindful approach extends into daily life, helping individuals stay present and centered amidst the distractions and pressures of the modern world.

In the modern world, maintaining emotional stability is crucial, given the influx of information, workplace demands, family responsibilities, and the rapid speed of life. These factors contribute to heightened stress and emotional upheaval. As Cecil Burton articulates, Karate provides an avenue towards calmness, equipping individuals with the methodologies to navigate stress and preserve emotional balance.

In the dojo, practitioners learn to face their fears, embrace challenges, and cultivate resilience. This is a valuable lesson for anyone trying to find balance in a chaotic world. Rather than succumbing to stress and anxiety, Karate teaches us to confront our fears head-on, to overcome them, and to grow stronger as a result.

The philosophical underpinnings of Karate, rooted in the ancient wisdom of the East, are more relevant than ever in our contemporary lives. The discipline teaches us that emotional balance is not about erasing our emotions but about understanding them and using them as a source of strength. It's about becoming the masters of our own emotions and using them to drive positive change in our lives.

In a world where many are seeking quick fixes and shortcuts to happiness and success, Karate stands as a testament to the enduring value of slow, deliberate progress. It reminds us that true mastery of our emotions, like martial arts mastery, takes time, effort, and dedication.

So, as you navigate the chaotic waters of the modern world, consider the lessons of Karate. It's not just a physical practice; it's a journey of self-discovery and emotional growth. Through the mastery of oneself, the cultivation of emotional control, and the practice of respect and mindfulness, Karate offers a powerful path to finding harmony and emotional balance in a hectic world.

Navigating life's hurdles and uncertainties, we are often reminded by Karate that the essence of real strength does not reside in physical might, but in inner equilibrium and emotional fortitude. As we traverse the intricacies of today's world, the guiding principles of this long-established martial art present a beacon of hope, offering a way towards tranquility amidst turmoil. As Cecil Burton underscores, the principal value of Karate lies in its ability to balance the mind, body, and emotions in the face of adversity.

[daniiel-la-racist]

Hi, does anyone know which streaming service has The Karate Kid? Thanks in advance