#some of these sample sizes are pitiful

[madam-mayhem]

So, im letting tumblr make a decision for me yet again for my fic bc im an indecisive little bitch. my rottmnt pokemon au. raph. what be? what SHOULD be? decide now or forever hold your peace... or however the fuck it goes.

other polls bc im that indecisive:

April's

Mikey's

[samarecharm]

tw disordered eating (not in explicit detail)

Whenever i write Yusuke and his relationship w the thieves, i try to emphasize that Yusuke was in a really really Really bad space not only mentally (like the others) but physically; hes bone-stick thin and you can feel his ribs jutting out if you go for a hug. Hes a bit gaunt in the face and hes got next to no muscle mass. He tires easily and hes kind of a shit fighter bc of it. The metaverse fills in the gaps a little bit, but his body is still very frail and unprepared to transition to an active lifestyle after years of surviving off of such a bare bones calorie diet. For my Akira, it is the driving force behind wanting to takedown Madarame; hes a sucker for a pretty face but hes also unable to look away from someone actively wasting away because of the actions of their guardian.

If any of them try to mention Yusukes physical state or diet, he often deflects, angrily, reminding them that he is abnormally tall, and that that obviously contributes to his thin (frail) stature. Its very hard to get him to eat while theyre in saferooms, and he often lags behind while exploring the museum. He cant stay in combat for too long, and at some point, Akira debates if he should even allow Yusuke to stay on the team; if he passed out or Worse under Akiras watch, hed never forgive himself.

BUT. As the thieves gain his trust, Yusukes a bit more willing to indulge them. He learns quickly that they arent pitying him like he initially assumed (he is far too aware of how much he feels like hes neglected his own body; and how others can easily see that neglect). They routinely eat and hang together bc thats just how they bond, and theyre just trying to invite him into their circle properly. Akira has zero experience w this kind of thing, but Ryuji and Ann are athletes and models respectively; theyre both in fields that encourage that kind of self destructive behavior, and they have some kind of insight into how to avoid falling for those same traps, and helping people who Do end up in those scenarios.

(Anns parents, despite their absence, do their best to prepare her for how cutthroat the modeling world is; to keep her from developing the kind of habits and mindsets that let young men and women destroy themselves. ESPECIALLY bc my Ann is a plus sized model. And Ryuji, as a promising track star, would know how bad it can get for professional athletes, the lengths at which theyd go to maintain their positions and ability to compete. Hes a gym rat who loves food and nutrition and knows what he needs to keep himself fit, and thats all he really needs)

They cant feed Yusuke the way they WANT to bc hes already so thin, so they just let him take from their plates to sample things and let him feel included. He starts taking up Ryujis offers to go get meals together, even is Ryuji ends up taking almost an entire extra serving home as takeout. He lets Ann drag him away to the crepe shop and her other little snack havens, even if he only leaves w a small chocolate of sorts to take home. He lets Akira make coffee and curry for them to split when he comes to Leblanc. And maybe he lets Sojiro cook a full plate for him to take back home to eat at his leisure and away from prying eyes. Yusuke goes from bitter to extraordinarily fond rather quick, and he finds himself angry that this is yet another thing Madarame has stolen from him.

By Futabas palace, hes filled out enough that Akira doesnt immediately panic when Yusuke gets tossed onto the floor by some brute of a shadow, worried that hed shattered every goddamn bone in his body on impact. He doesnt have any real muscle by any means but his face has the faintest bit of cheek fat that Ann is able to pinch w her evil little hands, and when he looks in the mirror, the ribs peek out but they dont jut out. His breathing is better, his skin is just Pale and not Ghostly white, hes got a healthy flush when he laughs at Akiras stupid puns, and he finds himself allocating a bit more of his budget towards stocking his fridge. Sometimes, Akira can even convince him to people-watch out in the sun instead of in the subway tunnels.

At some point, Yusuke becomes very vocal about things he wants, but importantly, about Food he wants. He will eagerly allow his friends to treat him if they ask, and he picks whatever sounds nice to his ears or whatever Ann and Ryuji recommend him. Part of it is due to him feeling safe enough to ask for such things; the thieves kinda laugh about his eccentricity and forwardness, but Akira, Ann and Ryuji know how different and comfortable this Yusuke is compared to the one they met. Its silly but its good; he gets to act like this bc the thieves let him be forward- they let him voice his wants and needs without a fight.

By post game, hes got the barest hint of a tummy pouch, and Ann will attack it relentless with a firm poke whenever hes foolish enough to stretch and lift his shirt to expose it. She thinks its cute 😭 Shes really happy to see it, bc she thinks of Yusuke all skin and bones and angry and scared like a feral dog barking mad, lashing out at any help they offered and working himself sick (figuratively and literally) trying to help make things right. It makes her so sad recalling it, so she likes to remind herself that hes okay now, even if hes a little embarrassed by it. She knows Akira and Ryuji do the same, inviting Yusuke to hang and just see him w their Own eyes that hes better, and that they did the right thing by insisting he join their little ragtag group.

[mysteriaqueen]

i am foaming at the mouth

how am i, a southern american, NOT supposed to pull for boothill?????

but god damnit it I WANNA SAVE FOR E6 S5 AVEN but FUCKKKKK

too too many pulls and if i lose my 50/50 then that is simply that. i'm alr at 40 pity from pull on aventurine's banner. so fuck it, poll time.

at the time of making this i have 87 pulls. i'd only be spending 50.

for anyone who doesn't know who i'm talking about i'll put some pictures

rb for bigger sample size por favor

[dontforgetthefrenchhorns]

GAYEST SECTION QUEST RESULTS

Through my extremely scientific research method, I can officially conclude that the gayest section (of the band) is...

CLARINETS!!!!

I mathed it out! Take a look :) (sorted by % queer)

So the clarinets were not the only ones with a 100% LGBTQIA+ rate, but they did have the highest sample size alongside it. Saxophones in general followed them up (tenors being the gayest) (only because more of them voted) and then bassoons. Even though there was only one bassoon player. Don't question it.

Tubas are the most pericisallohet section of the band, with a very small 66.7% (2/3) of them being LGBTQIA+. Pitiful. The tuba section needs more gays.

However, very cool that the hypothesis poll was correct.

‼️DISCLAIMER BEFORE THIS POST ENDS‼️ I am aware that there are many factors skewing these results, including but not limited to: self-selection bias, Tumblr is the gay website, polls didn't get around to every instrumentalist on this website, only some people reblogged and those that did were frequently aiming for an uprising of the gays in their section, and minuscule sample sizes. This is not a serious quest, it's meant for fun. Do not use this as actual scientific evidence. Most people reading this probably knew that, but this is the piss on the poor website so I wanted to be explicitly clear :D

If you have any questions, I'll see if I can answer them!!

And finally, this would not have been done without the suggestion of the wonderful @semothekat from this interaction:

So thank you particularly <3

Anyways, thank you all for participating, and I hope you have all had a wonderful pride. 🏳️‍🌈

Now go practice

[sinfulforrest]

Kylar and cow!pc thoughts! Got some afab and amab cow!pc stuff here~

He would be the worst person to take care of them and help them with their needs as he can barely take care of himself, but there's no way he's not keeping them with him when they’re as unique as this! Secretly hopes that they've become dumber so that he can have more control over them and have them rely on him more so he can feel like a good husband.

Looks up how to do DIY piercing at home so he can tag one of their ears with an ear tag (which may or may not have a tracking device in it) and might even try to do a stick ‘n’ poke tattoo in one of their ears to mark them as his too, but the end result probably wouldn’t be the best. Definitely has a fixation on their ears and horns and loves to stroke their ears when they’re snuggled by him.

When it comes to milking them, his hands grow way shakier than usual which leads to accidental rough and grasps tugs to their aching breasts or tender cock as well as pained mooing from his desperate little cow and a whole load of hushed apologies from him. Most of the time though his hunger gets the better of him and he 'accidentally' finds himself drawn to the scent of their rich milk. Any milk that actually gets collected from this point on goes right in the fridge for later, whether that be for drinking or for Kylar’s pitiful attempts at cooking.

With an afab cow!pc he nuzzles up to their aching breasts and immediately latches onto them, suckling at their chest intensely as they writhe and whine against him, too flustered to push him away. Would absolutely suck too hard and way too fast and might accidentally bite around their nipples as he shudders from how good and creamy their milk tastes. His free hand would find its way to the other breast, rhythmically groping and squeezing them to tease out their milk.

It'd escalate to the point where he’d get them into a mating press as happy cows that feel good produce more milk! At least, that’s what he read online, anyways. He would desperately still try to stay latched to their chest but would end up drooling his spit and their milk over their chest as he whines and pants from the bliss that he feels as he cums deep inside them.

With an amab cow!pc he’d go straight for their cock, marvelling at the size of it. He swipes over the head of their cock with his tongue, sampling the pearly beads of their milk and shivering in delight at the smooth taste. Taking the head in his mouth, he eagerly bobs back and forth as he laps and drags his tongue around their dick. With one hand he’d start pumping their length, groaning as he takes a bit more of their cock into his mouth, and his other hand starts eagerly fondling their heavy balls with an unpredictable rhythm.

After he’s had his way and sampled the goods, he’d mount his cow to begin breeding their ass, desperate for them to cum into the tub he’s placed below them. He bites their ear as his pace grows faster, more desperate, and begins to rapidly stroke them off with a shaky hand as their breathy moos contort from pain to pleasure. Gets lost in the fog of pleasure and grabs their tail as he cums in them, forcing them to take all of his dick as he whimpers against the crook of their neck.

[lolsonic-idk-man]

Talk to Me: part 3

I'VE FINALLY DONE IT! like a week ago

Part 1, Part 2, part 4, part 5, part 6

It has around 3650 words so definitely the shortest chapter. Anyway, I've made my sister cry and I have some trigger warnings :D

TW: Suicidal idealization, Attempted self-harm, panic attacks.

How was Nightmare meant to feel?

Dream was crying, wailing the following day, sometimes sobbing words of discouragement to himself.

Nightmare would normally relish the idea of hearing Dream suffer, but…

No. Maybe the horrible turning in his chest was because he hadn't gotten the chance to see Dream's suffering. Yes, that had to be it, he wanted the true satisfaction of seeing Dream's suffering, not just hearing it.

Sci would more likely than not have some cameras that would do, somewhere in his lab. He would be sending Dust to pick up at least ten, he has had quite enough of Sci for a month.

In the meanwhile he and the rest of his men would survey Dream's hiding place after he made his return to the Omega Timeline.

Nightmare knew that Dream's place was probably massive,(Why wouldn't Dream pamper himself? He's the oh-so-loved guardian of positivity.) It was going to take a time to properly comb his house.

The sooner the better he supposed.

A quick study of the tracker's precise location before it went offline was all Nightmare needed for a portal of swirling negativity to open in front of him.

" So this is where the banana comes to be alone huh? " Nightmare's right hand said as they entered the small apartment. " Would have thought he would choose somewhere nicer, ya know, being the Guardian and all. " 

Horror granted an affirmative to Killer's note.

The apartment had only one room and a tiny bathroom that sat right next to an even smaller closet with three sets of Dream's usual drapings hanging and black strapless jumpsuits folded on the ground. A twin-sized mattress lay on the ground opposite the closet. A counter, sink, mirror that could be opened, and cupboard sat on the same wall as the door, facing the end of the mattress. 

Frankly, the worst part had to be the smell of mold that had wrenched itself into everything. (How did Dream not reak of mold? HE'S SLEPT HERE.)

Was this what Dream had let himself fall into? Did he truly live in such squalor? He came here to cry? Pity himself? Hide.

Didn't matter. All this did was make Nightmare's life easier. He could ambush Dream here, watch to find more weaknesses of his.

See? Nightmare could work with this. It's not like he cared about Dream's well-being, and it's not like Dream cared for him, regardless of the lies he spewed during their battles.

He supposed the only problem with this was that there were very few places a camera could go without being noticed, if any at all. He could always hope that Sci would come in with a somehow perfect device for the situation.

Actually, who needs hope, it's Sci, he always has something.

On the topic of the coffee addict and cameras, he should probably get Dust before he agrees to be a test dummy for one of Sci's experiments.

A portal grew from the shadows as Nightmare instructed his boys, " Find somewhere to place video equipment, I will retrieve them and Dust. " He walked through the swirling negativity as he finished.

Fuck, he was too late.

Dust was seated in a cheap office with one of his arms strapped to a metal table by him as he scrolled through his phone with his other hand, with Sci ready to inject Dust's arm with some unknown subsistence.

Nightmare's tentacles were quick to yank the needle out of Sci's hands grabbing his attention, " What was that for!? "

" You were about to inject my subordinate with something, and for all I knew it could kill him. " Nightmare snarled

" Oh please like I'd give him something like that, " Sci rolled his eye-lights. " It's just enough amino amides to knock out his ulna and radius so that I can get a proper sample. "

" And what do you plan on doing with it? " Nightmare crossed his arms, his tentacles twitching like a cat's tail.

" Figure out the density of magic that makes up his body. "

" Why would you want to know this? "

" Don't know, " Sci shrugged. " Thought it'd be interesting. Maybe useful in a medical field of some sort. "

" How large would this sample be? "

The scientist turned his head back to Dust's arm and studied it for a moment. He placed his hand on its side like a knife at the start of Dust's forearm, turned back to Nightmare, and shrugged.

" No, you can't have Dust's forearm. " Was he going to have to scold Sci like a child?

" Why not? He agreed to it. "

" I am his guardian, and I will not be giving you my consent. " Nightmare growled.

" So you admit you see us like your kids? " Dust piped up, still scrolling through his phone.

" I never said such a thing. "

" You said you're our guardian. "

" That is my title, and with how I have to look after you all I may as well be. "

" So you admit being like a father figure? "

" Do not put words in my mouth Dust. "

" I'm telling the Horror and Killer. "

" You will not. "

" Too late. "

The Guardian of Negativity rubbed the rig of his nasal cavity and groaned, already done with the next week. " We’re setting up so get your duff off that chair and grab the supplies. "

Dust shrugged and waited for Sci to finish grumbling about how Nightmare couldn't understand as he removed the straps holding his arm down and handed him the box with all of the supplies.

With the cameras in hand, Nightmare pulled Dust through the still-open cut in reality back to Dream's run-down apartment. Nightmare would not adjust to seeing that this was the type of person he hated so.

" Have you figured out where to place them Killer? "

" Cours' Boss, " His right hand gestured to a corner of the mostly empty closet, and the now open cupboard that only had a cup and plate. " And we could tempt underneath the mattress, but I don't think any of us want to touch it. Don't know what's growing on that… Maybe Horror would! "

A firm slap to the back of his skull that made him wobble and a growl from Horror was the only thing he got from the statement.

" Well damn, okay, just a growl would have been fine, " He turned to Horror in fake annoyance. " Who am I kiddin', it was well deserved. BUT! Onto more pressing matters, " Killer turned to stare Nightmare down with his non-existent eye-lights. " You admitted to being the fatherly figure none of us had/remember having? "

" No. "

" HE DIDN'T STAB ME! WE HAVE A CONFIRMED FATHER FIGURE! "

Oh for fucks sake.

~~~~🌕~~~~

Luckily after his subordinate's celebration, the rest of the setup went without a hitch. The cameras were smaller than they had thought, making it easier to hide them, and considering how little space there was, it was quick.

Dream didn't return to his hole that day or the day after, he came back after the Bad Sanses next supply run.

" It's fine Dream, you're fine, he says it every time, nothing has changed, nothing has changed, nothing. Has. Changed. " Dream was leaning over the sink staring at his reflection. " And… it won't ever change… he'll always hate me. " Dream looked like he was slowly reaching a tipping point.

" Did he always hate me? Was I just that terrible of a brother? How many times have I asked myself that, far more than I should have that's for sure. " Tears flow from his eye sockets. " He may as well have done it out of spite. I wish I could tell myself how wrong I am, how he wouldn't have done it just because he hates me, b- but it's clear that I never knew him. " A smile that didn't match his quivering eye-lights tightened its thread.

" Why can't I let go? "

The dim glow of Dream's tears fell in silence, filling the sink's shitty plumbing.

What was the sting in Nightmare's chest? Why wouldn't it go away!?

Why did his anger only make it worse?

Dream ended up sleeping on the mold-ridden mattress that night and arose with dark bags that challenged Nightmare's corruption underneath his sockets.

He struggled to even sit up and used the wall to force himself to stand so that he could wobble his mostly asleep legs to the mirror and open it.

Inside were a few bottles and pellets of white creams or compacted dust, Dreamed reached for one of them without thinking and applied it underneath his eye sockets in an attempt to hide the bags that had formed.

Once finished he placed it back, closed the mirror, and looked himself in the socket.

Why were Dream's eye-lights so dim? So dull. He looked so tired like he had pulled three all-nighters and run a marathon every day. Where was the blinding light that Nightmare was forced to adjust to so that he could fight him?

Dream let out a shaky breath after a few moments and attempted to sew on a smile, only for the stitching to be wired. " Come on Dream, you've been doing this for the past… all, your life… " His eye-lights dimmed as he sank into thought.

" NO! No, no. New idea, I stop thinking and get back to smiling, go to the Omega Timeline, and act like I never came here! " A strained smile forced its way to Dream's face. " yeah… I never went through that… "

Dream stayed quiet, still trying to make his smile seem natural and forcing his eye-lights to be brighter before opening the bathroom door and walking into a world that was not there before.

Well now Nightmare knew how people got into the Omega Timeline, but it probably wasn't that simple.

Anger swirled in Nightmare. At whom? He didn't know. But it didn't matter his frustration would just be let loose whenever he deemed the positive side of the spectrum grows too large.

To which it did.

Dream had barely gotten the word " brother " out of his teeth and Nightmare lashed out. His tentacles were lanced with the intent to kill and his words to scar.

And it seems that his words succeeded. The Guardian of Positivity entered his tattered apartment a little more than an hour later and immediately fell to the ground, pulling his legs to his chest and burying his skull in them. His breathing started to quicken and become strained as he started to choke on his sobs.

" I'm a moron. I'm stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! " Dream started to murmur into his arms that curled around him. " I'm a selfish prick! I'm useless! So useless and so fucking dumb! I'm an asshole! He said so many times before! He's not my brother! He's not my brother, he's not my brother, not my brother, not my brother, not my brother, he's not, he's not, HE'S NOT! " A few ragged breaths, " I lost him a long time ago, I lost the right to call him my brother when I ran away like the useless selfish asshole I am. I just stood there, I just watched, I JUST FUCKING WATCHED. I ran away, I ran away from him, I ran away from everything instead of facing it like I'm supposed to. I let them hurt him when I was supposed to protect him because I'm useless, useless, useless useless useless! And I had the guts to cry about being overworked! I didn't work enough! The villagers were angry because I couldn't do enough! It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault, my fault, my fault… "

He continued the loop for a few more minutes, slowing down till the only sound left in the room was the once-a-while hick in his breath as he slowly went limp, falling into sleep in the same spot on the floor that he started.

The black apple in Nightmare's chest stung. It wanted to go to its twin and comfort it, but it also wanted to hide. Run away from the pain that he caused.

But he didn't know why.

Normally his soul would sing to the idea of anyone's misery and especially loud at the idea of his brother's. After all, Dream neglected them for the villagers.

But Dream blamed everything on himself. Nightmare didn't even blame Dream that much. He couldn't blame Dream for the villagers' actions. They were not his.

In the past, he wanted to and did. The only reason he didn't now, was because his boys had questioned why he blamed Dream for what the villagers had done. (They also jammed the fact that Nightmare was much younger at the time and was no longer allowed to call his past form weak. BUT IT WAS!)

He admitted that he was a terrible sibling at least. He wasn't. So far that was one of the only good things to come from this venture, and with how it was going there was no point in having his boys waste their time watching this with him. He didn't want them to see his weakness.

Dream came back multiple times while Nightmare planned the next attack. Nothing new was said in his brother's latest cries for peace, the same guilty pleas as before. The only thing that was new were the stings of guilt from his soul and how they got worse every time he saw Dream's dim eye-lights.

His men had also grown worried for him as he locked himself in a room to watch and listen to his brother, but today was the first time any of them said anything.

" … Nightmare? " Horror was the first one to say anything.

" Is there something you need, boys? " The Guardian of Negativity looked up from his latest draft of a deal that should get them some new chemicals for Dust to play with and sell to Sci.

Killer, Dust, and Horror stood in the opened door of his office, each with varying levels of concern. " Not much, " his right hand continued. " Just wondering if you're okay, ya know, considering the Dream situation. "

Nightmare sighed knowing fully well that was what the question was going to be. " I am fine, just struggling to figure out what to do with the information we have. "

" Yeah, figuring out that you still care for someone is hard lol. "

" What did you say, Killer? " Nightmare's eye-light stared him down.

The sadist looked over to his coworkers, " See told you he hadn't figured it out! "

" Killer, what is the meaning of this? "

Killer chuckled a little, " Come on Boss, no one looks at someone who they say they hate having a panic attack so uncomfortable unless they cared to some extent~ "

" Out. "

A kackle, " Mmmkay, see ya Boss. "

That was a concept that Nightmare did not like. He had spent centuries with a hatred of Dream. How in all of the world could he care for him?

The statement that he hated oh so ended up being what he couldn't stop thinking about. Even during his latest battle with Dream. He was silent. Dream made a few attempts to talk to him, not once calling him brother, why did that hurt? All failed.

In all honesty, Nightmare was barely paying any mind to the fight, it was still in debate. And it seemed that his turmoil only stirred Dream's own.

" He didn't say anything… " Dream stood stunned and confused, to say the least. " Is that good? N-no, it can't be good, he was so angry last time. Is he planning something big? " He let out a singular huff of air. " Of course, he is, he always has something ready. But why was he so quiet? Was he trying to shut me up? That wouldn't be shocking, I doubt he's ever enjoyed listening to me blabber about things, even then. So what!? " Dream rubbed his face. " Am I just not worth talking to… Of course, I'm not worth talking to. When have I ever been? " He groaned, walked to his bed, and sat in the corner with his head hidden in his legs as he continued to question Nightmare's intentions.

Why? Why does it hurt Nightmare so? Why does Dream thinking he is only capable of causing pain, hurt his soul? Why in the name of Toby Fox would he care what Dream thought about him? Why would he care at all!?

Why does he want to hate the one being that has done nothing wrong to him? Why did he hurt Dream? Why did attempt to injure his brother? 

Why did Dream still care for him? Nightmare had done nothing but torture him since he had been freed of his stone prison. What was wrong with Dream!? Maybe something was wrong with Nightmare?

Dream definitely had something wrong with him, (Didn't everyone in this multiverse?) He returned to the small apartment a few days later with a small purple cupcake with a candle. He placed it on the tiny counter and opened the middle drawer, hesitating before reaching in, grabbing a lighter, and placing it by the cupcake with his hand still around it.

He stared the dessert down, letting out a sigh as his eyebrow creased. " It's gonna be seven years tomorrow. Well, I guess 507 years. It doesn't feel like that though. It doesn't even feel like one… " Letting go of the lighter Dream makes his way to his bed and sits in the corner. " I should be 19 tomorrow, not 507. "

How did Nightmare forget such a thing? The following day was the day Nightmare gained his freedom, the day the villagers regretted their actions, the day Dream was trapped in stone, the day Dream was freed from stone, and the day they were created.

" What are you going to do tomorrow? What big event is going to push the balance to its limit this time? "

Silence.

" Why am I even doing this? Why would you want me to celebrate your birthday? " 

Something shattered.

Dream's skull wiped to the source of the sound, the bathroom. Removing himself from his mold-ridden mattress and into the room of origin.

Glass was scattered across the room, when Dream opened the door – Yes, Nightmare had the decency to let his brother have the privacy of the bathroom. – A rock sat in the walk-in shower. Dream looked up at the small foggy window above the shower head that was now forever open.

" O-oh… " Dream's skull dropped. " Well, I guess that answers that… "

He sighs, " Why am I still doing this? Why am I doing any of this!? Why am I still fighting Nightmare!? Why am I trying to make sure the multiverse stays balanced when I couldn't even take care of a single village!? Or Protect my brother! I was the worst choice for this fucking job, also I never asked for it universe! " 

Dream grabbed his golden cerite off his head and threw it across the room hitting the mirror, making glass spray all around the small apartment. " I never wanted to be your damned Guardian of Positivity! I just wanted to sit under a damn tree and listen to my brother! " Tears prick out of the corners of his eye-sockets as he screamed angrily at the multiverse. " Why can't I have that!? My entire life has been centered around making everyone else happy! But I can't be?

" I could've been a normal person! Nightmare could've been normal! No one would've hurt him, neither of us would have been so stressed, we could have just been happy!

" I could just stop, what would you think of that universe!? Mmmm? Mmmm? What would you do then? What would you do if I stopped working!? Mmmmm!? " A few heavy breaths. " I could… I could stop… I could just quit. " A crooked smile crawled onto Dream's face. " The multiverse would be thrown into chaos, but who cares? I could be selfish for once! Would it be that selfish though? The multiverse would probably be better off if someone else took the responsibility, and Nightmare would like that! He wouldn't have to put up with me anymore! And I won't have to do anything anymore! "

Dream rushed to the counter where he left the cupcake and opened the same drow that he got the lighter from, but this time pulling out a box cutter.

Was he?

His brother pulled out his soul, staring down at it wordlessly as he held the box cutter.

The once soft golden glow his soul held was gone, in the apple's stead was a brown rotting mush of what should be.

Had Nightmare pushed Dream to this?

He did, didn't he? Nightmare had done nothing but torture, someone who had tried their best for everyone, had their childhood stripped away from them, had a larger responsibility than anyone should bear thrown at them when they were young, and his brother.

Dream had done nothing but try to understand, try to fix whatever the problem was, and Nightmare only pushed him away and blamed him for feeling scared of his abusers.

A sound pulled Nightmare from his realization. 

" No…  " Dream pushed his rotting soul back into his ribs. " I can wait till tomorrow. That way it's a birthday present for both of us, I can be free and he can do it himself. Like he's always wanted. It should be easy enough, I can slow down a bit. Maybe I'll trip. I've been fairly tired lately after all. "

Nightmare's original plan for their birthday was to attack the Omega Timeline, hence why he was trying to find a way in. Now though it was definitely too late to attempt that and Nightmare had lost the will to after all he'd seen.

But he was going to have to do something, or Dream would probably kill himself.

[painsandconfusion]

3 - Inside the Manor

[Previous | Masterpost]

"..could I borrow a phone?" you ask meekly. "I'd like to call a friend to pick me up."

The woman gives you a pitying smile and a nod, stepping aside and beckoning you in. She leads you to a warm sitting room, fire crackling in the fire place, and the entire room decorated in reds and solid woods. It seems like the place is out of a movie.

She gestures to a chair. "You can wait here until your friend can make the trip. I'll get you some fresh clothes. Give me a few minutes to get those and a phone for you." The woman steps out of the room, and a staircase creaks, indicating her moving -presumably- upstairs.

(please rb if you can - the wider the sample size the more fun we have!)

[Previous | Masterpost]

(tag list: @whumpnonny @whumpsday @wormwriting @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @hidden-dreamland @a-whumped-tea @mirasorastone elvenfforestydd @shywhumpauthor @happy-little-sadist)

[xivu-arath]

"Would be real easy now to just freeze it whole and smash it to pieces. Get it all over with. But,” And he tips his head at the arm and its hungry, glowing whorls. “You haven’t. And you’re not going to.” The Drifter makes a generous offer.

The Drifter walks in on Omen-5 as if by sheer coincidence, wandering into the shelter with his shoulders hunched like all he’s after is a break from the wind and the cold. “Ooh, sorry,” he says loudly as he tosses his gear and fusses with the synth-brewer. “Didn’t know you were in here, cousin.” The exo doesn’t even look up. Typical.

Xyr attention is entirely on the arm xe’s holding out in front of xem, all ridged and gnarled like some funky new glove. Just looking at it gives him the creeps. Even here on the most morose iceball in the system, he’s seen it trying to throw out little twigs and new layers of bark the colour of eggshell. And it pulses, a fake heartbeat all of Light, so eager to grow, to change.

It’s not doing that now, though. Instead the overgrown tips of xyr fingers have gone dark and glittering, and xe is tapping at them until they chip away. What’s left behind is ugly and jagged-edged, more claw than fingertip, the wood discoloured by frost. It looks like it hurts. He doesn’t bother asking.

Omen must have broken one chunk off harder than the others. It goes flying, and Drifter leans in to grab it.

Steely fingers close on his wrist just as he does, levering him back. He stumblingly goes along with it, eyes wide. “Hey now cousin, no call for that – I just wanted a look, that’s all.” Xyr grip doesn’t loosen, a bruising reminder that only one of them is fleshy. He tries a different tack. “Besides, we’re all on the same team here. No harm done, right?”

Xe looks at him for a long moment. “Are we?” xe asks. Drifter keeps looking startled and impatient – but not particularly afraid – right back, not deigning to answer. Finally xe lets go, and he makes a show of rubbing at his wrist, tucking away the little frostbitten bit as he does. “You are not related to me in any way,” Omen continues. It’s an attempt to get him to back off, and it’s almost cute. Drifter smiles, with a shark’s pity.

“That totally literal act must get you out of a lot, huh?” Xyr lights flicker in what he knows is unfiltered annoyance. “But I know you know that I’m just tryin’ to be friendly.”

“I do not need any more friends.”

He spreads his arms wide, open-handed. “No? That’s up to you, sure… but ol’ Drifter’s a good friend to have. Especially if you’re in the habit of letting your friends get a better look at that freaky sapling you got there.” Omen goes more still than xe already is, which is a pretty impressive feat.

“No.” Clipped and rapidfire, so close to defensive.

“Really? Seems pretty close-minded, to come to all of us for help, for… alternative options, and only end up considering Eris’ take on things. I know a thing or two too, y’know.”

“I said,” xe starts, flat in a way that he’s guessing means he’s prodded at xem enough to uncover a temper.

“You’ve never been around to see my ship, right?” he breaks in. “Got an awful lot of interesting stuff back there. Some of it even grows, just… in the opposite direction, let’s say.”

Omen’s eyes brighten to miniature lamps, boring into him. Got ‘em. Pretty standard for a loner hermit type – xe’s never bothered to learn how to hide xyr feelings, and exos are a lot easier to read than they usually think. He leans back, flashes another toothy smile, wider and very friendly. “Figured that might be something you’d wanna hear about. But if you’re sure….”

A pause in which he can practically hear xyr thoughts whirring. “Wait.” Still flat, still pissed off. “What exactly do you want?”

“Just a few samples, the size of the ones you’ve been pruning. Nothing you’ll miss. I hold onto ‘em and mess around a bit, you get to hear about any interesting results. We both get somethin’ out of it.”

Xe’s not convinced just yet. “You will use them for your own gain?”

“Picking a weird time to get holier-than-thou,” he says. “My own gain’s the same as yours – finding out what it can do, with the Light, and the Dark. You’re after that too, aren’t you? Would be real easy now to just freeze it whole and smash it to pieces. Get it all over with. But,” And he tips his head at the arm and its hungry, glowing whorls. “You haven’t. And you’re not going to.”

Omen leans back, calculating. Drifter already knows he’s right.

“Fine,” xe says at last. “Since they will not go to waste this way.”

“Practical. I like it. I remember when I first heard about you, collecting bodies and bones and dragging them over for the Ghosts to look at. Good thinking ahead, that.”

He’s starting to get the feeling Omen really doesn’t like being called out so easily, even on the small stuff, because xe’s clammed up again, biolights cool and steady. “Next time you’re in the City, pay me a visit. Play a few rounds of Gambit.” He flourishes, shuffles a coin over his fingers and flicks it at xem. The exo doesn’t move, and it pings off xyr head, forcing him to scoop it back up.

“Damn.” He acts up the disappointment, salts his tone with just a bit of hurt, not that he suspects Omen will care. But it will annoy xem. “You really are a cold one, huh? Still, think about it. You could give all the young hotshots a taste of the Dark Age. And…” He clicks his tongue. “Get up close and personal with what I’ve been cooking.”

Omen looks at him, through him, dragging out the hope of an answer. Xe’s hoping this will get uncomfortable, but he’s never met a discomfort he couldn’t wallow in. Eventually, xe cracks. Xe wants to get out of this a whole lot more than he does. “Maybe.”

“Great, can’t wait to –”

But xe retreats out the door before he’s even got the sentence out, leaving a fine dusting of frost and bark shavings where xe stood. The Drifter stoops down and starts gathering it up.

Like xe said, no sense in letting any of it go to waste.

[rapifessor]

The Chiori Wishing Saga

It's time.

31,022 Primogems. 1,860 Genesis Crystals. 41 Masterless Starglitter. And 42 Intertwined Fates. All combined: 255 wishes for Chiori. Current pity counter is 5. Let's do this.

Just for fun: I'm playing a wishing game as well. I roll two d10, and if the result is 94 or higher, I make a batch of 10 wishes. If not, I only wish once. Why? Well, hypothetically the odds of getting a 5-Star in any given 10 pulls is 6%.

Alright, first Chiori at 23 pity. Rolled a 95 and instantly got her. Off to a great start here, maybe I'm onto something with my dice shenanigans.

Weapon banner: Uraku Misugiri at 16 pity. Easy game, wow.

Second Chiori at 58 pity. Oh, we're eating good.

74 pity: Jean'd. C9, by the way. Unfortunate, but this means I now have C2 Chiori guaranteed with just my freemogems. Speaking of which, I got her at 77 pity. 51 Intertwined Fates left at this point.

Ran out of free wishes, so now I'm buying my remaining double top-ups to restock. Unfortunately I get Mona'd at 78, then it takes me until 75 pity to get Chiori again. Pretty average RNG so far, except for the first few wishes, which were quite lucky.

83 to get Tignari'd, oof. Not winning a lot of 50/50s here, which is unfortunately the key to saving money, since you can rarely expect it to take fewer than 75 to 80 wishes to get a 5-Star. Well, I still have plenty of spare cash, so I'll keep on keeping on. It takes me 82 more wishes to get to C4, so even my soft pity luck is looking pretty rough right now.

C5 Chiori at 76! That's more like it. Coming into the final stretch here. Just one more 50/50 to pass and we're golden... except I get Diluc'd at 46 pity. Y'know what, I'll take that. At least it wasn't 80+ again.

So, in the end I get C6 Chiori in 80 more wishes, having made 768 total. A bit worse than average, but better than expected; the statistical average is 650 wishes for a C6 5-Star. But for a small sample size like mine, that's fairly unlikely. You'd actually expect a lot more in that case. All things considered, wishing for C6 Chiori and her weapon went very well, especially early on.

I am never doing this again though, lol. Chiori is the sole character to break the mold here. Of course, it's always possible that HoYo manages to create a character who appeals even more to me than Chiori, but I'm going to be much more hesitant to pull for them for a lot of reasons.

Now, I'm going to live life to the fullest with my Geo goddess. It's been fun writing about Chiori a whole bunch, but I need some time to relax and focus on other things.

Like Arlecchino. Just kidding, Arlecchino is mid.

[echthr0s]

literally mindblowing to me that "I'd rather not go to a concert than go alone" is winning that poll (I know the sample size is tiny right now but that sentiment is so common that I wouldn't be surprised if it continued to hold a lead even with thousands of votes)

I genuinely don't understand why doing things solo is so maligned to the point where no one wants to do it even if it means missing out on an enjoyable experience. one time I saw a tiktok that was like "I feel pity when I see people eating alone at a restaurant" and I was so mad that I made a tiktok ranting about how pity was gross LOL 💀 but the thing is, it is really fucking weird to automatically assume that no one wants to eat (or travel, or go to a concert) alone. the messaging is so pervasive -- "if you don't have people to do things with, that makes you a loser and a fail human" or whatever the fuck, and so you see someone just chillin by themselves and you think "oh no! that's something that needs to be fixed" instead of "good for them, enjoying some me-time on this nice day"

enjoying one's solitude is not a failure, not having friends is not a failure, you can be your own best company, you can also meet new people at a concert and possibly make friends, not having to use mental energy on the needs and attentions of other people might make it easier to focus on and enjoy the thing*, the world is so big and full of so many delights and social pressure is so good at shrinking the world and making it seem full of frights, I promise you anyone that is judging you for being alone is just projecting and that's their cross to bear, not yours

*if you interpret this as "I hate having to pay attention to other people ugh" I'll fucking eat you

[diana-bookfairchild]

Part 2 of 3

Adrinette April: Day 9

A breakdown of how Andy and Juliet were the worst friends on the planet, with absolutely no consideration for Marinette’s heart or nerves:

The shoot had actually been going pretty well. Her and Juleka’s had always been more of an informal arrangement, with them goofing off a lot. This was professional. Marinette was glad for this look into the industry – for all that Adrien found all this boring, she found it fascinating.

Vincent had laid on his dramatic lamenting a little too thick as the shoot came to an end and Adrien, with his people-pleasing tendencies, had looked a little too close to just calling Nathalie up and saying he’d find a way to fit in modelling in his schedule.

And that was not happening on Marinette’s watch.

“I’m so thankful you agreed to come out of your break and model my designs, Adrien!” Marinette smiled, channeling her best sickly sweet Lila impression. “I know you’re so busy, and I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience!” She said it loud enough for Vincent to hear. The man was impatient and dramatic, but he did care for Adrien – he’d been his photographer since he was a kid after all.

“Your break is well-deserved, M. Agreste,” he said, more subdued. “I was just … upset that a model of your talents would be unavailable to me.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, and she heard Andy snort. Upset, indeed.

“It’s not permanent,” Adrien insisted sincerely. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

Marinette sighed. She was in love with a sacrificing self-saboteur.

She was ignoring the fact that that described Ladybug pretty well.

“And you did this just for Marinette?” Juliet asked, clearly trying to play innocent. Marinette scowled at her.

“Of course I did! We’ve known each other for a long time, and it was the least I could do,” Adrien smiled over at her, and as her heart melted into a pile of goo, she smiled back.

Juliet and Andy exchanged a sly look, and Andy mouthed Definitely not romantic at her. Marinette closed her eyes and groaned internally. Why were people so obsessed with her love life? Her love life involving Adrien, more specifically?

They began wrapping up. Marinette and Vincent discussed the resolution, size, format etc. in which she wanted him to send the photos to her to upload on the website, send samples to Jagged and to put on the Gabriel catalogue. Adrien gave helpful tips, having been involved in the industry for years.

Then Andy decided to open her mouth. “Marinette, don’t you have some other projects you’re planning on?”

She knew very well Marinette did. The three of them had spent most of the time while they stacked the wardrobe expounding on the various hopes and expectations they had for themselves during the internship. Marinette’d gone on and on about how many assignments and projects and commissions she intended to complete.

“A couple,” she said reluctantly, feeling Adrien’s eyes on her.

“Then when you complete the next one – if you need a male model, I am at your service,” he bowed melodramatically, and grinned at her.

“Adrien, please, you really don’t have to,” she began helplessly. Then she shook herself. “It doesn’t matter now. We can discuss this—”

“Over dinner!” Juliet exclaimed.

“What?” Marinette asked, taken aback.

“We’ve just finished the project of one of our own!” Andy said, clapping her hands together. “Don’t you think that deserves something to mark the occasion?” She looked around at the half a dozen others who had been there to assist. They all nodded and there were cheers. “And that’s why we’ll have dinner—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mademoiselle,” Vincent said apologetically. “We—” He indicated everyone there but Marinette, Juliet, Andy, Adrien and Adrien’s bodyguard, “Have another job.”

There was a chorus of groans, but the glint in Juliet’s eyes told her that this was going perfectly according to her plan. “Just the four of us then,” Andy said, gesturing at Adrien and Marinette. “That’s a pity.”

“A toast, first, then!” Vincent proclaimed. Somehow, one of the others procured the number of glasses and the wine required. “To a project completed! To Mlle. Dupain-Cheng! To Adrien Agreste, the perfect model!” Marinette and Adrien flushed, as there were more cheers and everyone downed their glasses.

Suddenly, a phone ringtone rang out. “Sorry, that’s mine,” Juliet said, digging it out of her purse. “But carry on!”

“No!” Vincent really did have dramatic mood swings. “Time to go! Everyone, pack up! Chop chop!”

Everyone was instantly distracted, rushing around to get their jobs done. Adrien began to make his way to her, and Marinette tried to think of a way to thank him without stammering or letting on that she was head over heels in love with him.

But Juliet intercepted him, phone in hand. She gestured wildly, and Adrien began to frown. What had happened. . .?

When they parted, Juliet went to Andy and both of them gave her waves and air kisses as they headed out with Vincent and the crew. They looked too smug for Marinette’s liking.

“Juliet said we could go out to Le Monde Magique to celebrate a shoot well done,” Adrien said, smiling hopefully at her as he stood next to her. “But she and Andy have a sudden internship meeting at the office. So, it’ll be just you and me. Shall we?” He held out his arm.

Marinette died several times on the inside and vowed she was taking her friends with her as well.

“Of course we shall,” she answered, saving the inevitable panic for later. “How ever can I refuse an invitation as eloquent and gracious as that?”

Adrien grinned. “Of course. Sorry about that.” He cleared his throat, and Marinette suddenly got a bad feeling. “My dearest, most beautiful, most talented, most incredible Princess,” he said dramatically, and her legs went weak. “Will you do me the honour of accompanying me to dinner most unexpected yet charming at the restaurant Le Monde Magique?”

Marinette stuttered for a moment before she drew herself up. “I’m afraid, kind sir,” she responded gravely. “That the previous offer was much better. The new one offends me so that I will have to decline.”

Adrien gasped melodramatically. “But how ever will I bear the pain?”

Marinette just shook her head sadly and looked away in aloofness.

“You must come with me, Marinette! I won’t survive otherwise!”

She sighed as Adrien led them to his car, throwing a final glare at Juliet and Andy, who were still peeking from the doors and didn’t even have the decency of leaving to perpetuate their little story. “If I must.”

Being in the car and being driven by Adrien’s bodyguard wasn’t exactly a new experience – she’d done it plenty of times in college.

It was a bit different knowing they were not going out with their mutual friends but rather on a – it’s not a date! It’s not! – work dinner with only the two of them.

“What other projects are you working on?” Adrien asked curiously. He was leaning against the side of the car, and his hair – left much unrulier and longer than it had been in their college days – was falling into his eyes. You’d think that being in love with him when he’d had neat hair would’ve meant thinking he was less attractive like this. But no.

Marinette didn’t realize she’d been staring at him with her mouth open. Adrien smiled, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Marinette? Are you in there?”

She shook her head, startled. “Yes! I mean, no! I mean – what exactly did you ask?” She finished sheepishly.

He was clearly trying to stop himself from laughing. “I asked which other projects you had ongoing. This one was for Jagged, right?”

“Yes. How did you know?” She asked him curiously.

He shrugged. “I guess all the dresses just had that rock ‘n’ roll vibe he’s always going for? Like the first time you designed something for him – his album cover. You autographed one for me. I still have that in pride of place in my bedroom.” He grinned in fond remembrance.

She laughed uncomfortably. “You – you still have the autographed one? It wasn’t one of my best works.” In hindsight, there was so much she could have done better.

“I still love it,” he said. “It was thematic and yet really pretty. Not an easy combination, especially with Jagged’s tastes.”

She made a face. “Even still. I’m not going to say it was terrible, but it was rather amateur and—”

“Hey, cut yourself some slack. You were a kid.” He interrupted. “And Jagged Stone picked you as a personal designer. I’d say that’s very good for a teenager.”

“You might be right,” she replied, grinning ruefully. Then she started. “Oh, you asked about other projects, didn’t you? Adrien, you really, really don’t have to go out of your way to model more of my designs,” she said earnestly. “I’m already very grateful for this one.”

“Me modelling will get those designs more recognition,” he pointed out. Marinette opened her mouth to say she knew and that was why Adrien was doing her a really, really big favour. His name attached to anything was bound to make that design or product blow up. He clearly saw that on her face. “I want to do this for you, Marinette,” he said earnestly. “It’s not – coercion or anything. It’s not even a devour. I want to do this for you.” He repeated.

Overwhelmed, Marinette sat back and tried to organize her thoughts. Adrien was the kind of person who was naturally generous, and she was sure he would do this for any of his friends, but the enormity of the favour and the romantic insinuations (she could practically see Juliet, Andy and Alya waving ‘THIS IS ROMANTIC!!’ signs at her) flustered her.

Adrien looked anxious. He reached out to her but his bodyguard stopped and held open the door.

Le Monde Magique was one of the most high-class and expensive restaurants in Paris. Marinette, as she walked in, thought that the meaning could be literal, with how beautiful the environment was.

The interior was like a lush garden, wild and overgrown. Each table was tucked into a bower of greenery lit with candles and old-fashioned lamps. Soft music floated through the air, very suiting the atmosphere.

Marinette stared. She was fairly certain she had not seen a more romantic place in her life.

“Reservation for Agreste,” Adrien said to the waiter, who nodded quickly, obviously noting the celebrity name.

“Of course, M. Agreste. . . But I see there is less company than planned?”

“Clashing plans,” Adrien said, charmingly sheepish. “The perils of presumptions, eh?”

The waiter laughed. “Would you and the mademoiselle—” he glanced at Marinette and she wondered if she should expect a repeat of the time the entirety of Paris had thought (and posted on social media) that she was Adrien’s girlfriend. “Like a different, more private table?”

The undertones were obvious to her, but probably not to Adrien, because he shrugged and made a ‘go ahead’ gesture. “May as well as.”

This is not a date, Marinette reminded herself. This is a terrible matchmaking attempt by your very terrible friends. Adrien thinks this is a ‘job well done’ dinner that accidentally got private.

No good. She was panicking.

She’d been barely sitting for a few seconds, when she shot up, making some excuse to Adrien about the bathroom. He looked startled, but nodded, perusing the menu.

“Tikki, what am I supposed to do?” She blurted out the moment she was inside and her kwami zipped out of her purse. “I’ve gone on dates with the atmosphere less romantic than this!”

“I know,” Tikki said sympathetically. “But isn’t this what you’ve always wanted with Adrien?”

“Yes, but when it’s actually romantic, and he likes me!” She cried out. “It’s just the two of us! I’ll get carried away, and then I’ll try to kiss him, and he’ll be disgusted, and we’ll never talk again and I’ll probably lose the internship too—”

“Marinette,” Tikki interrupted. “Marinette, you’re catastrophizing. Stop. Even if you did get ‘carried away’, Adrien is the nicest boy I have ever met, and you know how many years I’ve lived. I don’t think there’s any chance of any of what you mentioned happening. You’ll be fine! This is what you’ve wanted for years! It may not be coming in the way you wanted or hoped it to, but you can still go and enjoy it.”

Marinette took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, you’re right, Tikki.” She quickly sent a message to Alya, mostly exclamation marks, about being shoved into a ‘date’ with Adrien. Thinking of her best friend’s reaction would tide her over any awkwardness and the mortification of having dinner with the boy she’d been in love with since they had first met (nearly half a decade ago; this was beginning to get pathetic).

“Sorry about that,” she told Adrien as she slid back into her seat. He’d been looking gloomily at the foliage, elbows on the table and chin on his palms. He smiled up at her, surprised and thankful. Had he thought she’d leave?

“Oh, it’s – it’s no problem,” he said, nearly tripping over his words. “I understand the need for a break. A little callback to our college days though.” His smile turned teasing.

Her cheeks burned. “Don’t remind me,” she complained. “I was so awkward.” She considered that. “Well, I’m still fairly awkward, but it’s better than it was when we were kids.”

“Still endearing,” he said, half to himself, and Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. She chided herself mentally. This was exactly what she’d meant by ‘carried away’.

She ignored his words. “So, what are you planning on ordering?”

They fell into small talk. Enthusiastically talking about their studies, they placed their orders, and the awkwardness faded away. They both took Intro to Business at their respective lycée, so they talked and argued about the assignments and coursework and differences between their schools.

There was a good reason for Le Monde Magique being so expensive, even despite the sheer natural beauty of the surroundings. The food was delightful. She loved it, and the topic went to Adrien’s personal chef and Marinette’s parents’ bakery and about food in general.

“I was actually planning on the other restaurant,” he said. “You know, the one nearer to your house? Near the canal? So we could eat outside.”

Marinette did know the place. “The one ransacked by the Akuma yesterday?” That had been a tiring fight, though seeing Chat Noir was always an irritating yet pleasurable experience.

“That’s the one,” Adrien smiled. “But they’ve given the employees a day off for their trouble yesterday, so they were closed today. I had to book this as a backup. I liked the outdoor theme.”

Marinette could guess that it was because he’d been pretty much trapped inside his house all his life. “So do I. The design and the ambience here is … really amazing. It’s kind of ridiculous that you could book a table on that short notice, you know.” She teased gently, not sure if Adrien would respond badly to an observation of his wealth.

He just laughed wryly. “Well, the Agreste name must have some advantages.” He winked. “Like taking a beautiful girl out for a work dinner.”

Marinette’s mouth went dry. He’d called her beautiful. That was a high bar, especially coming from someone as … well, pretty as Adrien Agreste. But then, he called it a work dinner. So he probably didn’t mean that romantically. She forced that thought into her mind. “Work dinner would’ve been fun at the canal,” she said, not noticing the way his face fell. “I can see why you picked these places. You have good taste.”

He mimed a toast. “To Juliet, who suggested I plan this!” Marinette made a note of the person she had to painfully kill. “Maybe we can go check out Bianca’s sometime? Dinner like this one? The canal is very pretty at night.”

Why does he keep throwing curveballs at me? Marinette screamed internally. She wanted more than anything to agree. She was having so much fun, eating this amazing food with him. Another celebratory dinner date sounded amazing. But she didn’t think she could tolerate another non-date like this one. She was going crazy enough already.

“Maybe if it doesn’t get wrecked again,” she deflected. He looked disappointed, but his face cleared soon enough.

“Well, Ladybug will always be there to save the day even if it does, so it doesn’t really matter.” He shrugged in response.

“And Chat Noir,” she added, frowning.

“Right. Him too, of course,” he made a dismissive gesture.

“I don’t see why people are always putting him down!” She ranted, forgetting that she was to talking to Adrien. “Chat Noir is every bit as important as Ladybug. The only edge she has over him is being able to repair the damage caused by Akumas.”

Adrien was staring at her, mouth open. “You – um, really like Chat Noir, don’t you?”

Marinette flushed. She didn’t like her partner and one of her best friends being considered second fiddle to her (even though it was, kitty would point out, fair since she was lined up to be the guardian after Master Fu) but she ought to learn not to be so vehement about it. It might draw suspicion.

“Yes, well, he used to come visit me sometimes,” she said, remembering the brief movie and ice cream date they’d gone on. Andre had gotten Akumatized, and both of them had decided it was too dangerous. Her heart had been torn between him and Adrien anyway. “And they’re partners. He’s a hero! I don’t know why Ladybug is so much more popular. I personally like Chat Noir a lot better.” She nodded, satisfied. Of course, saying that she liked her alter ego better than her best friend was unimaginable, but she genuinely didn’t understand why Chat Noir was so underrated simply because he typically followed her lead.

Adrien looked gobsmacked. “Right. You’re right, of course.” He was smiling down at his plate now, for some reason. “You know, you haven’t told me about the contest yet. I know it was open to people from lycée as well as first years at university. That’s some really tough competition.”

She laughed. “Tell me about it. It still feels surreal that I actually won when there were people two years older than me in it. I went to pieces between the first and second rounds. I nearly withdrew from the pressure.”

Adrien whistled lowly. “That’s terrible – must’ve been a lot of pressure if you went that far. It’s a really good thing you reconsidered. Why did you?”

She grinned. “Alya told me that after all the effort I put into my designs and my presentations and getting Juleka ready and monologuing to her about it if I quit she’d kill me herself. It was very … descriptive.”

He laughed. “Alya has a very convincing way, huh?”

“If you call threats and yells and general bulldozing convincing,” she responded dryly. She was very glad for Alya’s intervention though, not only because it had somehow gotten her an internship with one of the most famous fashion brands in the world while still in lycée but well. . . . It led to her being here.

Marinette hoped she wasn’t as crazy about her crush as she once had been (thinking about some of the things she’d done in an effort to ask Adrien out back in college made her wince), but as much as she told herself she was mostly over him and that crushing on someone who would never return her feelings and whom she barely saw anyway (which was not applicable anymore) was ridiculous – well, feelings didn’t obey dictates like that.

“Right, I remember our final cram weeks back in college,” he said amusedly. “We’d plan those sessions so seriously and earnestly. Everyone wanted Max for maths and science and because he’d bring Markov. But sometimes we’d just get distracted and get nothing done. Alya and I were able to keep us going for a while, but. . .” He trailed off.  

“Like when Alix and Kim had that impromptu push-ups competition,” she giggled. “And then we looked at our watches and freaked out because we’d wasted a whole hour.”

“Or that time we got so involved in Mecha-Strike that your parents came and gave us that disappointed look and told us to study.” Marinette’s parents were ridiculously lenient in his opinion. It had been a shock to get reprimanded by them.

“Oh, oh, like that time when Alya, Nino and I came to study at your place and then we had to sleep over and then your father—” At the mention of that particular incident, which Adrien’s father still hadn’t been able to live down, both of them nearly doubled over laughing.

Her hand was lying on the table, as she took the last serving of the pasta. The waiter showed up suddenly and she and Adrien told him what they’d like for dessert. Adrien smiled lightly at her, taking a sip of his juice. “This is fun,” he said. “I know it’s – not good to say, but I’m maybe a little glad that all the others had other commitments and couldn’t make it.”

Only a couple years ago, if she had been left alone with Adrien, especially with him telling her he was glad they were alone, she would have panicked, run her mouth off and escape as soon as possible, most likely confusing and hurting him in the process.

Now, thankfully, she had more composure than that.

“So am I,” she said softly. He hesitated, very visibly swallowing, and then took her hand in his on the table. Marinette stiffened, and Adrien looked panicked. She shook off the butterflies in her stomach and laced her fingers through his.

He beamed at her. She smiled tremulously back, taking her piece of chocolate lave cake. It was incredible, even better for the fact that they rarely made that at the bakery. It was also an excellent distraction to overthinking what Adrien meant by holding her hand and telling her he was glad that they were alone and taking her to eat in a ridiculously romantic restaurant.

They didn’t talk much after that, while they finished up and Adrien paid the bill, which only sharpened her anxiety. Particularly the part where he protested her paying by saying this was a ‘work dinner’.

Her heart sank so much at that that she let him pay without further ado, which clearly surprised him.

As they settled into the car, Marinette chided herself for getting her hopes up. This was exactly what she’d feared happening, and even though it (thankfully) hadn’t progressed to the disastrous outcome she had cooked up in her head, it still wasn’t good.

“Is everything okay?” Adrien asked softly after he instructed his bodyguard to take them to the bakery.

“Yes, of course.” She smiled at him as much as she could. “Thank you for taking me, Adrien. It was an excellent celebration for the amazing job you did modelling.”

“And you did designing and sewing,” he added, making her smile a tad more genuine. “So, uh. About the thing I mentioned. Bianca’s, sometime?”

Marinette swallowed. She really didn’t think she could take another of these non-dates. Even the tentative agreement she’d felt at Le Monde Magique had faded with the resurgence of her feelings for Adrien and the heartbreak she always felt around him.

“I haven’t completed my next commission yet,” she said carefully. “So we can think about it later.”

Adrien blinked, looking absolutely devastated for a second. Before she could question it, he’d smoothed it out. “Of course.”

“Unless you don’t want to model—” she added worriedly.

“No, no,” he said, but the assurance felt a lot less sincere than the previous ones had. Marinette watched him carefully. If he didn’t want to do it and was only saying this out of obligation for a commitment—

“I’ll see you around,” he said finally. At that, she felt certain he did want to model her designs. Something had changed though. “We’re here. Goodbye, Marinette.”

“Bye, Adrien.” He smiled at her, as fake as their last exchange had been.

And she watched the car leave with a sinking feeling that something had gone wrong.

[ghosthoodie]

hey i saw your tags on that post about people ignoring the ashen quadrant. troll relationships are defined by pitying and placating, the ashen quadrant is no exception. ashen relationships are born from the need to mediate between an existing relationship and make it go smoothly. for a species with incredibly violent instincts like trolls, it makes sense for them to have evolved an entire other relationship based on stopping two people from killing each other (or anyone else should their relationship go sour). auspistices are the keystone that keeps a relationship between two other trolls stable, and while that can be temporary like what we see with kanaya fluttering around auspisticing anyone she can find it also can be a permanent relationship. our sample size for what ashen relationships look like is just super small, and like abraxas-callibrator said the ashen quadrant got forgotten about in canon so theres not a lot of representation for what a long term one looks like

yessss i agree!!! it makes sense for it to exist but MAN it was so forgotten about that it just kind of made it a lil hard to read for me personally, i’d have loved to see it more explored and beyond just kanaya! it’s also confusing to me because of just how much she switched!!

sorry if i sounded overtly negative, i was being hella dramatic! lol! and also i haven’t read HS in a hot minute so i may have forgotten some things🙏

thanks for reaching out:D

[supersizedsuperwomen]

Prompt: Mystique gets her hands on some Jumbo-Gro, and while it supersizes her as expected, it also upsets her stomach something fierce.

This was truly the worst possible outcome. The Monolithic Mystique, already an enormous and quite obese menace, had managed to obtain one of the last know samples of an experimental agricultural biomass enhancer, intending to add to her already prodigious mass.

“Pitiful human scum,” the building-sized blueberry sneered as she held the single barrel of chemical sludge in a chubby hand. “You could barely contain me before, and now…I’ll reduce you all to the status of germs!”

With a triumphant laugh, she kicked back the barrel as if she were doing a shot, tossing the empty container to the streets below as her blubbery blue body began to bulge outward.

“Yessss,” she hissed in delight. “More! Bigger! Pathetic humans, you will bow before your-URRRP!”

Her megalomaniacal rant was cut short by a surprising belch, even as her body continued to grow and swell.

“…excuse me,” the mutant madwoman said quickly. “As…as I was saying, a new god is born among- BOORRRUUPP!”

Another tremendous belch, even more literally earth-shaking than the first. Her blue cheeks (on her face, not…elsewhere) turned violet as she blushed.

“A new god is born who…who…

BUUUURP!”

An actual shockwave erupted from her flabby lips with this ultimate eruption, quickly followed by a frustrated groan from the obese Titan.

“Forget it!” She snapped. “Just die, specks!”

She turned and quickly brought her city-sized ass cheeks down atop the city with a meteoric impact.

She had to admit, as she sat in her new combination throne/crater and rubbed her gurgling tummy, that her public ascension could have gone better.

[newsnigeria]

Chimamanda at least makes one honest admission in a write-up made up largely of rumours, hearsay, presumptuous conjectures and outright falsehood - The Jagaban's aide, Dele Alake

Dele Alake who's the Special Adviser on Communications to President-elect Bola Tinubu, has reacted to the open letter Nigerian author Chimamanda Adichie wrote to US President Joe Biden, questioning his congratulatory message to President-elect, Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Chimamanda had in the letter described Nigeria's democracy as hollow, insisting the 2023 presidential election was flawed by numerous irregularities and wondered why the US President would congratulate the president-elect. Read full letter here.  Her letter has elicited reactions from all and sundry. In his rebuttal to Chimamanda's letter, Alake insisted democracy in Nigeria is thriving, unlike Chimamanda's claims. He described the celebrated author being an “unrepentant Igbo jingoist,” who supported the Labour Party's presidential candidate, Peter Obi because he's Igbo. He also argued that Obi campaigned on the cornerstone of religion and ethnicity and could not have won the elections.  Alake stated that because Obi didn't win the election doesn't make Nigeria's democracy hollow. His rebuttal reads below ‘’The noted and internationally acclaimed Nigerian novelist and essayist, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, deserves a great deal of pity and sympathy for her so utterly biased piece titled ‘Nigeria’s hollow democracy’ published in the latest edition of ‘The Atlantic’ magazine. It is a piece that does little credit to the image and reputation of a leading Nigerian thinker who ought to be a voice of truth and reason in a time when passions run high and the truth is almost indistinguishable from falsehood, in a situation in which many people are heavily emotionally invested in an election which, unfortunately, has not gone the way they expected. But that is the often-difficult-to-anticipate way of elections in liberal democracies at varying levels of development. Chimamanda’s piece is a sad reminder that the possession of brilliance and high intellect by an individual provides no immunity against prejudice, bias, and bigotry albeit disguised in the deceptive garb of elevated and high-minded discourse. Chimamanda at least makes one honest admission in a write-up made up largely of rumours, hearsay, presumptuous conjectures, and outright falsehood. She supported Peter Obi, candidate of the Labour Party (LP) in Nigeria’s February 25, 2023, the presidential election and hoped he would win “as many polls had predicted”. Peter Obi did not win. He came third in a closely fought election in which Bola Tinubu of the All Progressives Congress (APC) came first and Atiku Abubakar of the main opposition, the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP), came second. Chimamanda had pinned her hopes on a possible Obi victory partly on predictions of flawed opinion polls some of which were predicated on statistically negligible and thus unreliable sample sizes and others on no discernible empirical basis whatsoever. Opinion polls do not win elections. After all, most opinion polls had predicted a Hilary Clinton victory in the 2016 presidential election in America. Donald Trump won and that did not make America’s democracy hollow. The writer can of course afford the luxury of pronouncing Nigeria’s democracy ‘hollow’ from the distance of her foreign abode all because she favoured candidate, Peter Obi, who fell short in the election. She avers that Nigerians went out to vote on the morning of February 25 with high hopes mainly because of the promise by the electoral umpire, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), to upload results of the exercise online from polling units in real-time to enhance transparency. The INEC has admitted that its system suffered unanticipated glitches on that day which made it impossible for it to upload the polling units’ results of the presidential elections on its portal immediately as promised but it began to do so once the technical hitches had been resolved. Chimamanda gives her readers the impression that the deployment of technology implies that some machine would magically conjure puritanical results online, portraying and guaranteeing the transparency and credibility of the exercise. No, it is the results as recorded physically on INEC forms provided for the purpose from the polling units, signed by polling agents of political parties, electoral officials and security agents that are uploaded and there is ample opportunity for parties contesting the outcome of the elections to prove if there are discrepancies between the figures on those physical result sheets and the electronic results uploaded on the INEC portal. Without the slightest shred of evidence, Chimamanda avers that INEC’s inability to upload the results of the presidential elections online as promised on February 25 was not due to technical hitches but rather deliberate human mischief and manipulation to rig the election. In her words, “If results were updated right after voting was concluded, then the ruling party, the All Progressives Congress (APC), which has been in power since 2015, would have no opportunity for manipulation. Technology would redeem democracy. Results would no longer feature more than voters. Nigerians would no longer have their leaders chosen for them”. This is a mischievous distortion of reality and utterly laughable. The introduction of the bimodal voters' accreditation system (BVAS) in the 2023 election for the first time indeed helped to ensure that only duly accredited voters could vote. It was now no longer possible for party agents in collusion with unscrupulous electoral officials and security agents to simply thumbprint ballot papers and stuff ballot boxes in favour of certain parties and candidates. This is one of the reasons for the significantly lower vote count in this election relative to previous elections where millions of votes, substantially imaginary, were allotted to parties in various state constituencies. To demonstrate that the February 25 presidential election was discredited, Chimamanda writes that “there were reports of a shooting at a polling unit, and of political operatives stealing or destroying ballot boxes. In Lagos, a policeman stood idly by as an APC spokesperson threatened members of a particular ethnic group who he believed would vote for the opposition”. It is unfortunate that an intellectual of Chimamanda’s stature would rely on rumours and hearsay to pronounce authoritatively on an issue as important as the 2023 elections in her country. She quotes “cousins” and “relatives” in Lagos to back up grievous allegations of violence and massive vote rigging in the election. For crying out loud, there are over 176,000 polling units across Nigeria. From what percentage of these polling units did she get her reports and how credible were these sources? In Lagos state, there are approximately 13,500 polling units. The exaggerated reports of violence and malpractices in the state did not occur in up to 1% of these polling units in one or two local government areas. How reliable and accurate then is the information which the writer feeds her readers? In any case, a scrutiny of the results of the elections shows that it was a close and tight contest which speaks to its credibility. The winner, Bola Tinubu, won in 12 states just like the second-placed Atiku Abubakar who also won in 12 states. Peter Obi who came third won in 11 states and the federal capital territory, Abuja, which for the election counts as a state. Tinubu scored 8,794,726 votes, Atiku had 6,984,520 votes and Peter Obi won 6,202,533 votes. The candidate who came fourth, Rabiu Kwankwaso of the New Nigerian Peoples Party (NNPP), recorded 1,496,687 votes, the majority of which he got from Kano state, his political stronghold in the north. It was however only Tinubu who met the constitutional requirement of scoring 25% of the votes cast in each of at least two-thirds of the states of the federation including the FCT, which translates to 24 states. Tinubu met the 25% requirement in 30 states, Atiku in 21 and Obi in 15. If the APC’s votes in the election, according to Chimamanda’s narrative, were rigged and fictitious, what does she say about the votes recorded by the other parties particularly her favourite candidate, Peter Obi? It is instructive that Peter Obi and Rabiu Kwankwaso broke away from the PDP to contest the election on the platforms of the LP and NNPP respectively. Had the PDP contested the election as one with Obi and Kwankwaso in its fold, winning the election would have been an uphill, almost impossible, task for the APC. But contesting on three separate platforms against the ruling party as they did, the victory of the APC was logically and empirically inevitable. Chimamanda betrays her ignorance of Nigerian politics and unwittingly misled her readers when she wrote that “Nigerian democracy had long been a two-party structure -power alternating between the APC and the PDP – until this year, when the Labour Party, led by Peter Obi, became a third force. Obi was different; he seemed honest and accessible, and his vision of anti-corruption and self-sufficiency gave rise to a movement of supporters who called themselves “Obi-dients”. Unusually large, enthusiastic crowds turned up for his rallies”. First, politics in this dispensation in Nigeria since 1999 has not always alternated between the APC and PDP. In 1999, Nigeria had a three-party system with the PDP and All Nigeria Peoples Party (ANPP) splitting the north, the PDP dominant in the southeast and south-south and the Alliance for Democracy controlling the southwest. After the 2003 elections, the polity became a one-party dominant system with the PDP in control of large swathes of the country, the ANPP with reduced influence in the north and the AD reduced to controlling only Lagos state in the southwest. In the 2007 and 2011 elections, the PDP remained nationally dominant although the AD had been rebranded into the Action Congress of Nigeria (ACN) and regained control of the south-west while the Congress for Progressive Change (CPC) and the All Progressives Grand Alliance (APGA) had emerged as powerful regional political parties in the far north and south-east respectively. It was not until 2013 that the APC was created as a merger of the CPC, ACN, a faction of the PDP and a faction of the APGA, which then went on to win the 2015 elections and has since then been the ruling party at the centre. Secondly, contrary to the romantic picture of Peter Obi painted by the writer, he has always been part and parcel of Nigeria’s political establishment. He was governor of Anambra state for eight years on the platform of the APGA, a period during which he recorded no remarkable accomplishments beyond claims that he saved humongous amounts for the state while leaving behind largely decrepit and dilapidated infrastructure. After his tenure as governor of Anambra state in 2006, Obi promptly dumped the APGA, decamped to the then-ruling PDP and became an appointee of the President Goodluck Jonathan administration. He was the vice-presidential candidate of the PDP in the 2019 election and had the party won, he would have been seeking reelection along with his principal, Atiku, in this year’s election. It was only in May last year that Obi quit the PDP and joined the LP when he saw that he could not win the PDP primaries. There is absolutely nothing new or fresh about Obi except in the jaundiced eyes of the Chimamandas of this world. The novelist does not hesitate to regurgitate rumours and baseless innuendos about the president-elect but chose to be silent on widely publicised revelations in the Panama Papers of Peter Obi hiding humongous questionable wealth in notorious tax havens around the world. Thirdly, Chimamanda writes most laughably about “unusually large, enthusiastic crowds” that turned up for Obi’s rallies. This is comic. Did larger crowds turn up for Obi’s rallies than for Tinubu or Atiku? How did Chimamanda measure the enthusiasm of one party’s campaign crowd relative to the other? Yes, Obi received excited and enthusiastic receptions in the various church assemblies that he concentrated his campaign on in the run-up to the election. Large and enthusiastic crowds received him in the various southeast states where his Igbo kith and kin are found as well as many of the south-south states with close ethnocultural and Christian religious affinity to the southeast. It is not surprising that those were the only two out of the country’s six geopolitical zones that he won despite his marginal victories in Lagos in the southwest as well as Nasarawa and Plateau states in the north-central. By the way, Chimamanda does not explain Obi’s victory in Lagos, Tinubu’s stronghold, in an election she says was badly rigged and lacking credibility. Nor does she throw logical light on Atiku’s victories in states like Katsina, Kaduna, Jigawa, Yobe, Kebbi or Osun in the southwest in the presidential election. Obi targeted Igbo and Christian votes in his campaigns and he got victories in the southeast and south-south. He won two out of six states in the north-central and did not have up to 25% of the votes cast in either the northwest or north-east. He had no realistic electoral path to victory in the presidential election. Victory in two out of the six geopolitical zones cannot give any candidate victory in a presidential election in Nigeria. What is most tragic about Chimamanda’s letter to President Joe Biden is that she wrote as an unrepentant Igbo jingoist masquerading as an objective intellectual and patriotic Nigerian. The point is that she is Igbo like Peter Obi and wanted him to win for purely primordial reasons. Many allude to her novel on the Nigerian civil war, ‘ Half of a Yellow Sun’, as depicting her essentially ’Igbocentric’ perception of reality. This is understandable. After all, she is human. That Obi did not win the election does not make Nigeria’s democracy hollow. Since 2011, there have been incremental and noticeable improvements in the country’s elections as witnessed in 2015, 2019 and now 2023. It can credibly be argued that Nigeria’s democracy is positively growing as we have had 24 years of civil rule uninterrupted by the military interventions that had hitherto been so detrimental to the country’s political development. The writer argues that the INEC chairman should have paused the collation of results process to investigate grievances by political party agents as she alleged was done in the governorship elections of March 18. Grievances raised at the national collation centre ought to have been addressed at the previous levels of the collation at local government and state levels. The governorship elections were declared inconclusive in Adamawa and Kebbi states and shifted to April 15 because the margin of victory was lower than the number of registered voters in areas where it was not possible to conduct elections on March 18, not because of grievances with the collation process. In any case, the Electoral Act provides for aggrieved parties in elections to seek redress through the judicial process and that is currently underway. So what exactly is the point of Chimamanda’s letter to President Biden? Is it to seek external intervention in the ongoing process? Still stressing that the failure to upload the results of the presidential elections substantially marred the exercise and insinuating that this was deliberate, Chimamanda wrote, “Curiously, many polling units were able to upload the results of the house and senate elections, but not the presidential election…The senate and House results were easily uploaded. So why couldn’t the presidential results be uploaded on the same system?” We can thus presume that she finds the national assembly elections credible and acceptable because they were uploaded. But the Senate and House of Representatives election results reflected the electoral supremacy of the APC in the elections. They were a validation of the outcome of the presidential election which incidentally took place on the same day and at the same time as the legislative elections. Ninety-eight of 109 senate seats have so far been declared. The APC won 57, PDP 28 and LP won 6. In the House of Representatives, 325 out of 360 seats have been declared. The APC won 162, the PDP 102, and the LP 34. The truth is the APC’s victory in this election cannot be credibly denied. Amazingly, throwing all caution to the winds, Chimamanda writes “Many believe that the INEC chair has been “compromised” but there is no evidence of the astronomical US-dollar amounts he is rumored to have received from the president-elect”. This is incredible. Chimamanda will be lucky if she does not have to prove this weighty allegation in court.'' he said Read the full article

[jhstickynotes]

Article Summary: Autism in Australia: Community Knowledge and Autistic People’s Experiences

As the rate in which people are diagnosed with autism rises, there is an increased public awareness of autism. This has led to the perception of an “autism epidemic,” which sparks explanations for this “expanded incidence” of autism. Some interpretations of this increase include higher public awareness of autism and changes in diagnostic criteria. For the changes in diagnostic criteria, this has had the greatest impact on the rise of diagnosing autistic people with lower support needs.

Unfortunately, the spread of knowledge about autism has not necessarily been sufficient and accurate. The phrase “autism epidemic” has a negative connotation, which implies autism is a condition to be pitied and cured instead of a neutral form of neurodiversity. The implications that autism is most prevalent in children ages 5 to 14 disguise the fact that autism is a lifelong condition that is not “grown out of” through treatment. Autistic adults still need appropriate accommodations.

To assess the knowledge of the general Australian population and the adequacy received by autistic people, two studies were distributed. Study One used an online panel to observe knowledge and perspectives about autism, and Study Two used a mail online survey to hear about the participants’ experiences with autism.

Study One consisted of 3204 non-autistic Australian adults (18 years and older) using email, SMS, or telephone surveys. 86.9% completed the survey online through an email or SMS link, and the remaining 13.1% had a telephone interview. The five key areas tested about autism were awareness, prevalence, causation, outcomes, and impact.

For Study Two, 1353 Australian adults who subscribe to Amaze (state-based autism organization) took a survey via an email invitation. They were either a family member of an autistic person (68.4%), cared for an autistic person (49.4%) or were autistic (5.8%). The majority of the sample were females, born in Australia, were over the age of 34, and had a household structure with children.

Comparing the results of the two studies, significant gaps in knowledge about autism were identified. Some of these include Study One participants’ lower awareness of the increase in diagnoses of autism in females, that around 20% of them believed or were unsure that autism is caused by vaccines, and almost half thought or were unsure if autism can be “cured.” Almost 20% believed or were unsure that autistic people are often violent despite several comprehensive studies suggesting autistic people are equally or less likely to commit violent crimes.

While the sample size was large overall, there are some issues with the study. The participants were more educated than the average Australian population, which may underestimate gaps in knowledge. In Study Two, the source was from Amaze subscribers, which may not reflect the total autistic population.

The findings of this study match autism research in other countries and can add to the evidence to suggest the need for the general public to be more educated about autism. The article asserts that knowledge should be more “with” autistic people involved instead of being “about” autistic people.

[carpsurprise]

 ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ flower shop!au sam ... !

→ gender neutral — (they/them pronouns)

→ notes: ok tbh, this is more of a home depot!au because it made more sense for a farmer. but he DOES mention making flower arrangements. give me a break. under a read more so i don’t clog the main tag. tell me if this is boring?? also i’m posting this to ao3. 

→ word count: 1.5k

The deep clinging of brass bells echoed above the farmer’s head as they entered the flower shop, already tinged with sweat on the back of their neck from the weight of the summer. Inside, a boy hunched over on a frail wooden stool sat on his console, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in unaltered concentration. The farmer idly wandered about the store, window shopping to see if any fertilizer would come to mind, or if a bird feeder they had dreamed of happened to appear. 

“Oh, hey! DIdn’t see ya come in, my bad!”

The farmer turned around, face-to-face with the boy from behind the counter. He was sweating, just as they were, a thick pink soaked into his cheeks and neck from working in the sun. The air conditioning was working over itself, whirring out in pained cries to fill the tiny shop with some solace from the outside air. 

“Don’t worry about it.” They smiled kindly. “I’m just looking around.”

He nodded, stepping back from them. His apron was an airy lavender, with the name ‘SAM’ written sloppily above the shallow pocket— thick lines and squiggles danced around his name in a joyous, child-like harmony. Gold stars lined up under his name, some peeling off from the mix of canvas fabric and sweat. The farmer had frequented the shop enough before to know that the employees were not rewarded with gold stars. Ignoring their odd realization, they returned their attention back to the lined shelves, stocked full and neat with fertilizers and bird seed.

“I can make arrangements, too, if you’re in the business for those,” he said, almost stuttering with urgency. The farmer looked at him, assuring him with another friendly smile. Their hopes that he would take this silent cue and step away had wilted. “I can get you one for free. Like, a free sample.”

“It’s okay, I’m really just here to look for some flower pots. I got a little distracted looking at these.”

Sam turned his head, allowing the almost pitiful way he tied his hair up off of his neck to finally be shown. The farmer could not even fault him, not with the way the heat had become near parasitic to the land. Even with the air conditioning roaring above them, the weight of the humidity had still managed to crawl into the shop. Excusing themselves, the farmer made their way to the outdoor section.

“Do you need me to show you where the pots are?” Sam called out, standing on the tips of his toes to see above the display stands.

The farmer turned to face him, waving their hand dismissively. “No, thank you! I’m fine,” they yelled back. “Thank you, though!”

They knew exactly where they needed to be: the spinning rack of seeds and the empty pots. Their time looking for seeds was short, immediately retrieving their learned (by trial and error, unfortunately) knowledge of what seeds would work with the amount of time they had left in the season. The shops’ assortment of pots had expanded since the last time they visited, all beautifully crafter and shaped in fun, different ways. 

Wanting some difference for their garden, they strayed from the terracotta pots and into the fancier ones. Even with tight funds, there was never a more opportune time to treat oneself than when buying plants. The glazed ceramic pots stood out against their company, shining in the sun with its finish and large size.

The farmer’s fingers gripped the lipped edges, spinning the pot around to look for any hidden scratches or gashes. Deciding the pot was beautiful as is, they pulled it out into the walkway further, bending down in preparation to lift it. Despite its hollow center, it carried the weight of solid brick. The soreness that accompanied them radiated in their lower back and arms, eliciting a wince and muffled groan from the back of their throat. 

After pushing a deep breath from their nose, their body still bent over the clay pot, they raised their head to peer into the dark windows of the flower shop. Sam was so floaty before their separation, following the farmer’s heels like a loyal dog— or a late-day shadow— and when they needed him most, he seemed to have vanished. His silhouette inside of the shop was pinpointed easily, with his spiked hair out of his small ponytail, towering in height, and in constant motion. Standing in front of him was a smaller shadow, holding up two bird feeders in their hands.

“Dammit,” the farmer cursed under their breath, recognizing the shape of one they held up. 

Feeling envious of another customer snagging what was supposed to become a treat for themself, they channeled their energy into their shoulders in one more attempt to lift the pot. A sharp pain pulsed in their shoulder once more. They rolled both shoulders forward and backward, looking back into the shop for any hope to catch Sam and flag him down.

Sam’s saving grace had appeared after a few minutes, his head poking out from the shop door. “Hey, they, are you still doing alright out here?”

The farmer’s head lifted, snapped up as if they had been dozing off, beaded with sweat and red in the face. He caught on with an immediate rush, breaching himself into the sun and over to the pot anchored in front of the farmer’s feet. His legs separated from each other, ready to brace the weight of solid clay, just before he paused— with his hand held up to his customer— before letting out a sudden sneeze into his elbow.

Their eyebrows furrowed for a split second, before regaining their composure. “Bless you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Sam responded, lowering himself to cradle the curves of the pot, lifting it and suspending the weight onto the center of his stomach. The farmer jogged before him, holding the door open for him as they returned to the haven of the shop. He thanked them in a strained voice, before continuing to speak. “I’m just allergic to flowers.”

They looked at him carefully, admiring the curves of his face. “Why do you work at a flower shop if you’re allergic to flowers?”

He muttered something under his breath, carefully setting the pot against the counter before dropping it with a thud, retracting his bony fingers quickly. The counter shook under the force of the drop, and Sam hurried himself back to the register with a shaky smile. “I just think they’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” the farmer responded simply, looking at the finish on their new pot with a blank look. “I guess so.”

“And my mom really likes them,” he added. 

Picking up the price scanner, he splayed his hands around the curve of the pot, spinning it around. After scanning the same seed packet a few times, he started poking at the buttons of the cash register. The farmer, left to their own devices in their patient waiting, had peeked around the store, looking for any one object to jump out at them— scream their importance— or jog their memory of any forgotten needs. A hanging pot of vibrant red flowers had caught their wandering eye. The bulbs nearly spilled over the sides, vibrant and full of life.

Biting back a surprised gasp, the farmer lifted their finger up to Sam. “So sorry, just give me one moment!” 

Hurrying themself over towards the flowers, they carefully lifted the plastic hook from its hanging home and supported the weight with an opposite hand placed gently underneath it. They returned to Sam’s counter, placing them with the utmost tender care of a gardener. Sam raised his head from the register, looked to the flowers curiously, then back to the farmer. His hand cradled the tag, his eyes scanning across their scientific name in a small, italicized font, with the price and barcode just below it, and the sun bleached caring instructions. Letting go of the tag, Sam reached to grab a paper bag.

“That comes out to,” he paused, looking back at the screen, “seventeen gold.”

The farmer moved their hand to turn the price tag to verify the price.

“Don’t worry about that!” He grinned. “Those are on me.”

“Oh,” they cried out, moving their hand to touch one of the velvet petals. “Thank you so much, that’s so kind.”

Sam shook his head, handing their bag to them with a gentle hand. “I can help you get that out to your care, if you need me to.”

The farmer hummed, eyeing the deep blue of the pot before placing their bag inside of it, setting their new flowers on top. Hugging it awkwardly, they lifted it from the counter. While the pain in their back began to rip into their muscles, it was not nearly as agonizing as lifting from the ground. Sticking their head out from around the pot, they let a strained smile stretch across their face. “I got it, I think. Thank you, though.”

He smiled at them, still pink in the cheeks. “Anytime.” The farmer kept their grin, watching the pink of his face deepen into a reddish tone. “Come back to the shop soon.”

“I guess I’ll have to, huh?”