#GOOGLE is a barely functional…

[aerosolsprite]

no the hell i did not

[teyrnacousland]

OC Tag Meme

Finally got around to doing this! I've been tagged by @trash-nerd, @larkinna, and @introvertedfangrl, thanks to all of you ♡

Tagging (no pressure, as always!) @sun-marie, @zwitter-iconic, @corvus-frugilegus, @ofcrowsanddragons aaaand if anyone else reading this hasn't been tagged please consider this me tagging you! (Also if anyone who tagged me wants to do this again with any of your other characters, feel free to consider this a tag back!)

Name: Cassia Mercar (née Cassia Porenni)

Alias(es): Rook, Cass

Gender: Cis woman

Age: 30

Place of birth: Carastes

Spoken languages: Common, and Tevene. She can read some other languages to varying degrees of success, but she doesn't speak any of them very well.

Sexual orientation: Ace and bi

Occupation: Shadow Dragon! (And...? I'm still figuring this one out. She must have had a way to get money during her time as a Shadow Dragon, right? But I'm not sure where she could work? I wanted to say a library because it matches her interests and skills, (and because that's where I work,) but that's a pretty public facing job for a wanted woman. Maybe something like a dishwasher/cleaner at a restaurant or something? tl;dr I don't know, but something!)

FAVOURITE

Colour: Bright yellow!

Entertainment: Do books count? I think books count. She also unironically finds attending random lectures entertaining, no matter the topic. What could be more entertaining than listening to someone talk about something they're passionate about? And, bonus, she gets to learn something new!

Pastime: Books again. She enjoys studying a new topic and getting sucked into that domino effect of researching one thing that leads to another that leads to another. She also enjoys trying new foods. And watching Lucanis cook. (She also learns during her time with Varic that she enjoys Wicked Grace, especially once she figures out how to count cards 😃)

Food: The lemon tart Lucanis made for her

Drink: Tea! Specifically herbal tea. Especially anything floral!

Books: Yes, please! (She only reads non-fiction, but Bellara gets her into her serials after Veilguard. She starts stealing trashy romance novels from Lucanis after that too. Two person book club date nights!)

HAVE THEY

Passed university: Yes, if the Circles in Tevinter count! Between the Circle and her father's added homeschooling she is very educated.

Had sex: Nope! She's very asexual.

Had sex in public: No, see above, but even if that wasn't the case she would explode from embarrassment at the mere thought.

Gotten tattoos: Yes! She has a small snake (for Tevinter/Shadow Dragons) with feathery wings (for Rook!) on her left ankle. It had been years since she'd left home by that point but still her main thought while getting it was "what would my father think?" The tattoo felt more like rebelling than the "abandoning her father's legacy and running away to join a literal rebellion" thing.

Gotten piercings: Only her ears, which she's had pierced since she was little.

Gotten scarred: She has a scar on her thigh from stabbing herself for blood magic reasons. She's had many other scars for blood magic reasons through the years but she heals them right away. Magisters practicing blood magic may be an open secret in Tevinter, but I imagine it's considered gauche to openly sport obvious blood magic scars.

Had a broken heart: Her first relationship was her sneaking around with girl in her class at the Circle. When the girl's parents found out, she refused to see Cassia anymore, even as a friend. (When Lucanis pulls away after the almost kiss she's worried she's ruined yet another friendship by getting feelings involved.)

Been in love: She's not sure anymore? What she has with Lucanis now feels like more than what she had in her few past relationships. (It's because she is an adult with both maturity and freedom this time.) (Edit: I have realized that the actual reason is fear. When she dated girls she was scared of being caught or judged or left. When she dated boys she was scared of being married or taken or trapped. She's free of all that now, and she trusts Lucanis. That's the difference.)

ARE THEY

A cuddler: Absolutely! She's definitely the type who seeks out warmth in her sleep and will cuddle up to whoever/whatever's closest.

Scared easily: In social situations? For sure. Scared of the consequences of failure? Definitely. Scared of taking risks or being in danger? Nah.

Jealous easily: No. She wouldn't be with someone she didn't trust completely. And she's with Lucanis. She's never trusted anyone more.

Trustworthy: Very. She would rather cut herself open from the inside than break a promise or disappoint someone. She's very loyal, as long as you don't want her to go against her morals. The only promise she makes that you can't trust is "I'm fine!"

FAMILY

Sibling(s): Nope! She's an only child.

Parents: She never knew her mother, since she died giving birth to Cassia. As for her father... I could honestly make a whole post about him as a character. He raised Cassia himself. He is a ruthless and cruel man, but he does his best to be good to her. He loves her, and she loved him. There was love there. Even monsters can love and be loved.

Pets: She's never had any pets :( She is so excited to meet Lucanis' snake though.

BLANK TEMPLATE:

General

Name:

Alias:

Gender:

Age:

Place of Birth:

Spoken Languages:

Sexual Orientation:

Occupation:

Favorites

Color:

Entertainment:

Pastime:

Food:

Drink:

Books:

Have They…

Passed University:

Had Sex:

Had Sex in Public:

Gotten Tattoos:

Gotten Piercings:

Gotten Scars:

Had a Broken Heart:

Been in Love:

Are They…

A cuddler:

Scared easily:

Jealous easily:

Trustworthy:

Family

Siblings:

Parents:

Children:

Pets:

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

my writing is honestly way less stories than like,,, collages around a certain theme

[icewindandboringhorror]

Recent things.. mostly just writing screenshots lol

[tchaikovskaya]

ive had the same macbook for like 8-9 years now and i only just now started using the file tags in finder and i feel like a massive dumbass for not having bothered to learn what all that was about before this point lol

[antisocialxconstruct]

goddddd I have GOT to start making livable money independently I cannot fucking do this "having a job" shit anymore!!!!!!

[helielune]

i really miss old internet when logout buttons weren't like. hidden underneath three menus and two sidebars. idk.

[strxnged]

non alcohol gang rise up - @milkstore

god i've been anti-drinking my whole life and probably will be once again from this point on.... curiosity will be the bane of my existence why did i think this would be interesting

[minnepaulitan]

2024 has been so eventful so far. Had a baby, finished my MA degree (just waiting for graduation to be approved), and submitted a story to Conjunctions which I fully expect to be rejected in three to six months time.

I’ve tried starting on my YA WIP, but wouldn’t you know, babies require a lot of attention and care. I may have to revert to writing by my thumb with my phone like I did my capstone.

[agent-oo-z]

I think it should be illegal to make websites that only work on google chrome. The number of times I have had issues with a website and someone has told me to “just download chrome” as if chrome isn’t slowly going to shit and also scraping all my data. I’m sorry but if you want me to interact with your service I shouldn’t have to seek my digital soul to the demon formerly known as Google

[genkishoujo]

bro how am i supposed to live when i'm this anxious every day. i dont have insurance man

[onceuponaweirdo]

hey google, how do you human

[evisxerate]

Absolutely insane and fucked up that they make laptops without HDMI ports now. what the fuck did you do to her she was so versatile

[sukeruton-san]

Sorta Maybe Blind pt 2

First Next

It has been four hours since the initial discovery of his appearance and he's come to figure out it's not just that he looks like he'll kneel over and die with a small breeze but he feels like it too. side effects just keep coming!

Apparently his eyes are extremely sensitive to the light now. he opened them fully once and it hurt like hell, even with the smog. his internal temperature has always been a little bit on the cold side but now he feels like a freezer and his rugged t-shirt and jean combo is not helping. he's a little frustrated with how much he's shaking especially on his left side

Oh he thinks he forgot to mention that his left side now has a huge lichtenberg figure on it, starting from his hand going all the way up his arm and spreading across his back and chest swirling where his heart should be it also goes all the way down his left leg into the bottom of his foot, some of it is even peeking across his neck. He thinks it's the scar that was supposed to show itself when the accident happened but it didn't.

it's here now and it constantly aches too, another aspect of the ectoplasm levels here. He thinks he's become more fatigued but his sleep schedule was already shity to begin with, 4-5 hours a week can do that to a person. same with his appetite, food was more dangerous than edible most of the time at h- Fentonworks.

He ducked into an alleyway to search through the duffle bag that was packed for him, squinting to lessen the light in his eyes. and he found a lot. Hygiene products, a new phone and modified Phantom-phone courtesy of Tucker, notebooks, files, a lot of snacks, bottled water, Med kit, wild survival kits courtesy of jazz, bunch of the Fentonworks inventions now phantom-tech that he and Tucker modified and improved together, some clothing items courtesy of Sam, and a bunch of other miscellaneous items/small bags he didn't want to look into right now except for

Oh. . .

Oh ancients the fuck Sam!?!?

Sam gave him a crossbody satchel filled with big money, and when he says big money he means probably thousands in big money!?!? taking two 50s out and shoving the satchel inside his chest he looked to see what the notebooks and files were about.

One of the files was the necessary paperwork for his new identity that Tucker and Jazz helped create together, and judging by the glowing green sticky note Clockwork helped them too, probably about the sorta maybe blind thing he got going on. The other files containing pretty much all the Fenton works blueprints and or recipes for chemical compounds like the ecto-dejecto and the cleaning spray for ectoplasm.

The notebooks were small but thick, they hold a variety of things ranging from tips and tricks, locations that may be useful, information about Gotham in general, several were blank, and others had other little things he won't get to. One notebook was dedicated to everything he has done as Phantom, his battles, achievements, and things they learned about his weird biology. some of it was clearly done by Clockwork cuz he hasn't told anybody the full story about Dan or the clones or the other fights and challenges he faced.

Did he forget to mention that besides the necessary paperwork everything was written in Braille? No? because it was.

Deciding that he was done searching through the bag for now he put on a black hoodie with blob ghost sewn on the front, took out his new phone, and put the Phantom-phone in. He turned on the blind aid in the accessibility function and turned the brightness down significantly. He pulls up Google to look for a place to rent. They all begrudgingly agreed that they won't call or text until a month has passed so suspicions won't be as tight on them. Finding something close and cheap and pulling up the directions to speak audibly he goes on his merry way.

Hopefully the owner will be nice enough to him even though he's barely 16 trying to rent an apartment.

--------------- *Hour and a half later*------------------

The building fucking abandoned

No like the top half of it looked like it exploded years ago and Google still says it's for rent!?!?

Why!?

You know what fuck it! he's already made his way over here and it geting dark fast. he'll find a decent corner in there to sleep tonight.

Squeezing his his way through a hole that was supposed to be a door, tripping, and landing face first on the broken disgusting floor below him.

_______________________________________________

Batman and Robin were investigating a weapons deal that was happening later tonight in an abandoned apartment complex, half the building gone from an explosion courtesy of Two Face. 30 minutes before the deal they were doing a quick sweep of the two floors that remain when

*Smack*

Someone face planted 5 ft away from them.

"Ow " they rub their face for a minute before sitting up and

" That's a blind child " Robin was slightly bewildered by the black haired, blind and before closing his eyes he was able to make out the dull icey blue color. He was ill looking 13-14 in age.

A blind boy that was deathly pale, warringly skinny and most importantly alone.

He points in the vague direction of Robin before stating "I'll have you know I'm almost 16 and you don't sound much older than I do" he feels across the ground searching for the phone that was a few inches away from his reach.

Batman grabs the phone off the floor before standing the boy up himself and handing it to him. " The apartment building you have been following is out of service "

" Oh, why is it still operational on Google?"

" Tch, It seems someone has failed to inform the online networks of this buildings status, which is a incompetence on their part" Robin walked up to be beside the boy.

" what's more important is why you were looking for an apartment building in the first place. You're alone as well, when someone should be there with you when you cannot see or you should at least have a cain. It is also heading to a time of night where you should not be walking outside."

" What is this an interrogation, why should I be telling you what I am doing, who even are you." The boy crosses his arms backing away slightly

" We are Batman and Robin and we are only concerned of your safety" the big bat himself States in a softer than usual for his Batman growl.

Robin looks over at him giving him a look before signing ' are you serious ' then folded his arms. Batman ignores him.

Multiple footsteps could be heard across the floor, Batman grabs a hold of the child before grappling up and away from sight. Robin does the same in a different direction.

_______________________________________________

Holy SHIT

Fenton luck strikes again because he just walked in on The Batman and fucking Robin on an investigation and he interrupted. Being held in Batman's arms he realizes that either he's tiny or Batman's huge because he's at least three times his size.

This is turning out to be one of the more fucked up situations he has ever been in. Let's hope he won't fuck up the situation even more then he already has.

(sorry for the cliffhanger I need to rest my brain a bit with writing, but here is what I've written Hope you enjoy also I saw the reblog from @athyriaceae and took it into consideration thank you for rebloging)

[mariasont]

HEAR ME OUT!

post prison Spencer and shy!reader bonding over being total nerds. Books, shows... you name it

Bookstore Physics - S.R

summary: spencer suggests you should compare moral biases more often. you think he's making a philosophical point. he thinks he just asked you on a date

pairings: post!prison spencer reid x shy!medialiaison!reader

warnings: fluff, second hand embarrassment im sure, philosophical debates that are probably wrong bc i had to google and i know hardly knowing about mr kant, existential crisis but make it romantic, post prison reid, shy reader, prolonged eye contact

wc: 1.6k

a/n: thanks for requesting my lovely! happy superbowl to those who celebrate! go birds!

You were so close. Just one more inch, and your fingertips would finally graze the spine of the book that had been taunting you from its impossibly high perch. 

Rising to your tiptoes, you reached with all the reckless confidence of someone who had severely underestimated basic physics. The shelf wobbled under your grip, your shoes squeaking against the polished floor, and in that split second, you were faced with a terrifying possibility that you were about to take out the entire bookshelf, along with your dignity.

Something grabbed ahold of you, steadying you before you could faceplant directly into a pile of literary fiction. 

You went completely rigid. Because that wasn't just something. That was a Spencer Reid hand, long fingers, warm palm, and a freakishly strong grip for a man who treated physical exertion like a concept rather than a practice.

"Oh. Hi, Dr. Reid," you blurted, the words tumbling out clumsy and unpolished, as if your tongue had forgotten how to function. You winced instantly. "What are you doing here?"

Spencer didn't answer right away. His grip on your arm slackened, but he didn't step away, didn't even give you an inch of space, like he had no intention of letting you breathe properly.

Oh, that's fine. Air is overrated anyway.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated as if he were genuinely considering the question, but you knew better.

His expression hovered somewhere between pity and uncontained glee, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

Your lips parted, but your mind refused to cooperate, stuck on an endless loop of oh my god, did you actually just say that?

To Spencer Reid. The same Spencer who had, on multiple occasions, resorted to scribbling entire paragraphs on the back of receipts and once, when truly desperate, his own wrist. Spencer, who physically flinched at the sound of a cracked spine and once spent seventeen uninterrupted minutes explaining the significance of marginalia. Spencer who read like breathing and talked about prose like it was something alive.

And you, a person allegedly with working cognitive abilities, had just asked him what he was doing in a bookstore.

You opened your mouth, whether to correct yourself or just inhale enough oxygen to function again, you weren't sure, but before you could, Spencer, with precisely zero struggle, reached up and plucked the book from the shelf like it had been placed there specifically for him. 

"You should've asked for help," he murmured, and oh, that was definitely amusement in his voice.

"I-I had it under control."

One brow arched, unimpressed.

"Sure you did," he mused, lips twitching like they couldn’t quite decide whether to commit to a smirk. "Although, considering that 20% of bookstore-related injuries stem from ill-advised attempts at reaching high shelves, you were probably just one statistic away from a minor concussion."

You narrowed your eyes. "That's not — there's no way that's a real statistic."

Spencer barely reacted, flipping open the book with the same casual disinterest of someone checking the sky for clouds, except this wasn't a change in barometric pressure, and you were positive your entire nervous system had just gone into meltdown mode.

Your face burned, heat creeping up your spine and flooding through you veins at an alarming speed, and — oh, no — you had officially run out of places to look that weren't him.

And he (unfortunately) made such an easy focal point.

His shirt was rumpled like he'd spent the whole day forgetting to sit properly and a barely-there ink smudge kissed the edge of his palm, the kind only noticeable if you were close. His hair was at war with itself, some strands curling forward rebelliously against the collar of his cardigan, others falling forward, brushing the edge of his cheek.

He didn't glance up as he murmured, "Philosophy?"

The words barely had time to settle before your brain supplied an immediate translation: he was about to analyze you.

You could practically hear the gears turning, the internal mechanisms of his brain whirring at a speed that actually did defy physics. If you concentrated hard enough, you might've been able to hear the faint whir of neurons firing, piecing together a framework of analysis that was surely seconds away from being spoken into existence. He was surely already forming a hypothesis, already constructing some impossibly insightful revelation about what this particular title said about you, your worldview, your subconscious motivations.

"Well, yeah, that one," you said quickly, the words tripping over each other. “I mean, it’s not real philosophy — well, obviously, it is, but not in the way you would define foundational philosophy, but it still presents some really interesting moral dilemmas, and the writing is surprisingly digestible considering the subject matter is so —”

You clamped your mouth shut so fast it was a wonder your teeth didn’t rattle.

What were you even saying?

"Um — yeah. Philosophy. Or... something like that."

Spencer's lips twitched, and then, in a move so profoundly unsettling, he smiled.

Not just any smile, either. A real one. The kind that didn't just curve his mouth but softened him entirely, the corners tugging upward, a barely there dimple surfacing at his cheek. 

It hit you like a perfectly aimed dart —sharp, direct, and entirely crushing. Something fluttered wildly in your chest, light enough to feel stupid, but heavy enough to be a problem.

Then, still smiling, he tilted his head, leaning in just enough to invade your space, his voice dipping like he was handing you something fragile.

"I didn't take you for the existentialist type."

Your first instinct is to argue, to insist that you're far too well-rounded, too multifaceted, too impossible to be pinned down by a single school of thought. But before you can even begin to string words together, Spencer tilts his head just a little more, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that feels dangerously close to that same expression of analyzing once again.

And suddenly, you need to redirect this conversation, desperately, urgently, before your body betrays you, before you start visibly sweating or keel over like a fainting goat. Neither feels like an optimal outcome.

"I — I mean... I could say the same about you."

His lips quirk. "Interesting. And why's that?"

"I don't know. I always assumed you'd be more of a rationalist? Like, Descartes' methodical doubt feels like something you'd respect, and even Kant's categorical imperative, although that's more deontological ethics than strict rationalism, kind of aligns with the way you view morality and decision-making, and —"

You stop. Blink.

Oh no. You’re heavily invested in this man’s philosophical alignment.

You purse your lips, clearing your throat like that’ll erase the absurd level of thought you’ve just admitted to having.

"I mean, I'm probably way off."

Spencer flips the book closed, considering.

"I supposed you could argue I lean toward rationalism," he allows. "But morality is messy. Kant insists on universal law, and let's be real, most people abandon objectivity the second emotions get involved."

He glances at you then, a shift so small it shouldn't feel significant, but somehow, it does.

“For instance, we all make exceptions. We justify things we probably shouldn’t. Sometimes we prioritize people in ways that defy reason.”

His lips twitch. 

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Well, yeah,” you say, caught up in the current of the conversation before you even realize you’ve been swept away. “People make emotional calculations constantly. Even when they claim objectivity, their decisions are shaped by personal attachments.”

The thought unspools too easily, words tumbling forward, carried by momentum.

“And it’s not just morality, it’s cognition in general. Have you read Jonathan Haidt’s work on moral intuitionism? He argues that people make moral judgments first based on instinct, and then rationalize them after the fact.”

You glance up, expecting a rapid-fire counterargument, some impossibly well-structured debate. But Spencer is just watching you.

"So what about you?" he asks suddenly. "Would you say you make exceptions?"

You pause.

"I mean… yeah? I guess I do. Everyone does, right? If someone I care about does something morally questionable, I’d probably be more inclined to defend them than if it were a stranger. I mean, that’s just human nature."

Then shrug. 

"But that doesn’t mean I’m being hypocritical," you add quickly, as if you just realized how that sounded. "I think there’s a difference between conscious favoritism and subconscious moral bias. It’s not like I have a specific person I’d automatically justify no matter what."

Spencer exhales. "I think you're more consistent than you realize."

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, lifting the book in his hands, fingers drumming idly against the cover. “You try so hard to rationalize your emotions. But I think, if it came down to it, you’d make an exception for someone. Just one.”

Your stomach knots, and it's humiliating how obvious you must be. You can feel your pulse everywhere, in your throat, your wrists, your temples, like your entire body is broadcasting, Hey, Spencer Reid is making you malfunction because he somehow sees right through you, somebody send help.

“I — well, I mean —”

“Relax, it’s just a theory.”

But something about the way he says it makes you not relax at all. And before you can scramble for some kind of coherent response, he nods toward your book.

“You should get that one,” he says lightly, handing you back the book. “I’d love to hear your take on it next time.”

You freeze. Next time?

Oh. Oh no. The words settle over you like an ill-timed realization, and your brain is running the math like you're about to file a report on your own social incompetence. Next time implies... a prior time, a recurring time, a pattern of times. Next time implies he assumes there will be a next time. 

And you assume that he assumes that you are the kind of person who could logically expect another bookstore trip with Spencer Reid as if that's just a thing that happens in your life. Which is absurd.

Your fingers tighten around the book, like holding onto an overpriced paperback will somehow restore balance to your rapidly deteriorating world. Your pulse is a problem and your ability to think critically is a casualty. 

You scramble for something, anything, to say, but before your brain can reboot, Spencer is already moving. 

Then just as he disappears into the next aisle, he tosses one final parting shot of his shoulder —

"See you soon, then."

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[worlds-worst-ships]

Do you seriously, actually ship it?

Okay. Lets talk. Because apparently some of you are defending... well... "that" (under the cut)

"He's autistic! It was a stim!"

If you genuinely think that this has ANYTHING to do with autism, you are an objectively stupid person. Like, your brain is so fucking smooth, it puts the surface of freshly tempered glass to shame. You're a barely functional reprobate with subhuman intelligence who has no idea how to form thoughts so you let a 50 year old billionaire who spends too much time on his phone decide your thought process for you.

"He was throwing his heart out to the crowd!"

Now, I don't really play baseball, basketball, netball, or any sport where you throw anything other than sometimes darts, but... is that how you throw? You perfectly extend your arm at that angle? Twice? After spending years posting tweets that very much align with Nazi viewpoints? Do you throw a pitch in baseball and scream SIEG HEIL as the ball hurtles towards your opponent? No. Stop being a fucking idiot. This was deliberate. He did it twice.

"He's autistic! He doesn't know better!"

Please comment if you actually think this so I can personally call you a stupid cunt and block you. We absolutely do know better. Autism and Nazism aren't mutually exclusive.

"You're inhibiting his free speech!"

1st amendment only applies to censorship from government positions of power, which I am not, as should be obvious from the fact that I have no power to censor him. Though I shouldn't have to explain that.

"Well, he's gonna get away with it so stop being so sensitive!"

Yes. He is. But that's not a flex, that's A FUCKING MASSIVE PROBLEM. Call me sensitive if you want, but absolutely every single one of you should be offended by this. Did you pay attention in history class, or were you too tired after a long night of being fucking railed raw and bone dry by propaganda on Twitter? Moron.

"Well, he's rich and you're not, so there!"

Yep. Got me there. He's rich, and I'm not. Yknow, Hitler and a lot of Nazi officers were pretty minted too. So was Epstein, King Leopold, Stalin, Jimmy Saville, every MP currently serving in parliament... but sure, they're great people because they're rich, right?

"You're just a stupid offended libtard!"

Google "The Holocaust".

"Well, you're still using his app!"

His app? You mean the one he bought, then fucking ruined because he has no idea how to run it, right? And you because its basically impossible to find mutuals as a vtuber without it, you knew that, right? "His" app, please, you probably think Ronald McDonald makes your burger when you order McDonalds, you moron.

"If we punish Elon for this, then that's a violation of the first amendment!"

You mean like banning tiktok, removing any and all talk of election rigging, then putting it back up the next day? Or maybe like deleting any criticisms of you and your nazi salutes under your recent tweets despite it blowing up everywhere else? Or does that not count because its something you agree with? Yeah. You've been cucked harder than Sneako and you don't even realize it. Elon and his government buddies are leaving your free speech rights looking like this

Aaaaanyway

I find it well and truly laughable that so many people like Elon will say all this insane shit and do all these fucking heinous things and people will defend them. Like how that gun woman who shit herself says stuff like "I'm not homophobic, I just think gay people are disgusting and that they should die" or that comedian nobody finds funny anymore spends hours whining about trans people but says he's not transphobic.

Lets all be on the same page for once and have the balls to say what we actually think. Elon got so close, but being a spineless edgelord who doesn't have the balls to just say what he thinks out loud is quite the weakness.