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#but i doubt she changed much

kindagaybro · 9 months

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nice to see that spain had a 12th player on the pitch this game. wonder how the refs enjoying the bonus she got paid before the match

#football #wwc 2023 #england vs spain #not saying that spain wouldn’t have won #but those fouls sure were helpful #congrats to spain though #they played so well #the ref was biased #but i doubt she changed much

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taardisblue · 2 years

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not to be a broken record stuck on thoschei and spydoc as a continuation of twissy but. something something missy dying when she tried and failed to stand with and be more like the doctor. something something ttc being about the master trying and failing to make the doctor more like him. something something the master now trying to define the doctor, to literally be the doctor... and still failing anyway. he fell the same way missy did; failing to be more like the doctor. but this time; this time? she fell with him

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fromtheseventhhell · 3 months

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People trying to blame Joe for Sophie's lack of success will always be hilarious since she's been in several movies and series during their relationship, it's just that her stans(?) stopped tuning in after GOT ended. The whole divorce "discourse" was a great example of how Twitter likes don't translate into a career; Joe was playing sold-out stadiums while "team Sophie" genuinely knew nothing about her recent projects and convinced themselves she'd been forced to stop working because of her irrelevance. I would almost feel bad for her if she wasn't a racist zionist

#her plastic surgery curdling so quickly was karma for her being a terrible person #people are treating this new movie like her comeback when she never left sdkdskjsfkjsdfkjsdf #nobody was tuning in to her and it's unlikely that's going to change for some GOT nostalgia bait 😭#unless people hate Joe so much that they're going to stan and support her out of spite which I doubt #it just blows my mind that her /own/ stans don't know about anything of her projects they really don't like her omg

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mukuberry · 4 months

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OK since the day's nearly over and it's all I've been thinking about since the mv dropped, here's my simplified updated opinion on what Kotoko's murder is:

Kotoko kills red-haired guy (not milgram victim), saves Lucky.

She goes to court and is judged innocent due to self defence, she and Lucky grow closer.

Lucky retracts her statement that Kotoko saved her (family threatened/bribed by red-haired guy's father?), Kotoko finds out via news article.

Kotoko is very much pissed off by this ("Useless weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them")

Kotoko goes on the hunt of a new bad guy, Lucky somehow knows this and waits for her, Kotoko completely gives her the cold shoulder.

Lucky runs after her, accidentally gets involved in the hunt Kotoko is on. Kotoko kicks her out of the way, underestimates her strength and accidentally kills her

#this WILL change in like 2 days probably 🥰 but thats my current understanding!#red-haired guy definitely isnt the victim she's in m.lgram for and theres wayyyy too much focus on lucky... she's def dead sorry #we saw how pissed off kotoko was right after she left lucky... that anger + adrenaline from hunt... i doubt she was in the right headspace #to be careful and make sure she didnt hurt anyone too extremely #tbh i dont think. kotoko fully knows she's dead. oops ^_^ good luck dealing with that when u find out koto....#milgram #kotoko yuzuriha #lucky milgram #<- i dont like maintagging these kinda posts RIP but i need it tagged so i can find it later T_T

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kareenvorbarra · 1 year

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Even just reordering the songs in bway hadestown so that Eurydice is on stage during Why We Build The Wall and Our Lady of the Underground would improve things so much….you have the “step into my office” bit, you have Persephone react to that, then you have the song where Eurydice meets the other workers and sees what’s actually going on, then Why We Build the Wall is her having apparently given up and lost her identity like the others…..THEN at the end of Why We Build the Wall, Hades leaves the stage and the other workers turn to Eurydice and take her by the hands and smile, and they bring her to Persephone’s bar and they’re all in the chorus for Our Lady and Eurydice realizes that the people here ARE still people and they do have somewhere to talk where Hades isn’t listening (and all the lyrics to Our Lady actually make sense again lmao, ESPECIALLY “there’s a crack in the wall”)

Also I just really want to see Persephone and Eurydice interact on stage in this context….like Eurydice is a little wary bc she’s pretty sure Persephone is jealous of her, but Persephone knows what’s up and sees the new girl that Hades tricked and discarded and picks her out of the crowd during the musical interlude, and twirls her around while the rest of the cast cheers, and gives her a drink and sends her back to her seat…Eurydice stares at her like she’s entranced…idk. Just a little something that sets up how close they are in “I Raise My Cup to Him” as well as Persephone’s sympathy for Orpheus and Eurydice specifically

#obviously the simplest changes would be like. giving everyone their concept album verses in 'way down' and 'doubt comes in'#but 'our lady' is still the thing that makes me angriest lmao #i know there needs to more more connective plot in the show and i actually LIKE some of it during this part #but in the album you can HEAR anais singing on 'why we build the wall' and 'our lady of the underground'#bc her voice is so distinctive! so you know eurydice is there!#and that's how you know she's seeing the two different worlds that exist inside hadestown. just hearing anais in the chorus #the stage show adds so much stuff and yet restricts the world of the story in a major way. ugh #(i saw the touring production and it was very beautiful! not quite as frustrating as bway because i was prepared for the changes)#(but still deeply frustrating. also the orpheus singer was WAY better than reeve but the eurydice singer was very inferior to eva)#(so i have still never seen a production where i really liked both leads. rip)#hadestown

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60inchyugiohheadcanons · 7 months

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On Jōnouchi's ADHD (1.39k words)

This headcanon is probably the longest on this blog; it's some compiled thoughts on how growing up with (undiagnosed) ADHD has affected Jōnouchi. It's halfway between headcanon and fanfiction piece, and was requested by @bloodyscott, whom I kept waiting for too long for a response. I apologise sincerely for the delay.

This headcanon begins below the cut, as it's obscenely long. You may find it more comfortable to read this from the blog page, or on Archive of Our Own (NOTE: tumblr is acting strange. To access the page, copy the link and manually remove the href.li portion and the second https), rather than on your dashboard/search, in terms of formatting and such.

From infancy, Jōnouchi wailed his way out of his crib, out of his room, out of his house—as a baby, he thrashed towards whatever freedom he could find. He loathed the four walls of the crib; he'd scarce room to move. A skin infection brought him, aged 4, to hospital, and the very sight of overrun grey plastic seats and skinny cubicles exhausted him more than his illness had ever threatened to.

In primary school, others’ desks would blend together in a whir. Here he was, stuck, dizzyingly sedentary—the longer he sat, the foggier the world seemed to grow. When he kicked and whined at other children throughout electric lunch breaks, and they shrank from his vitality, he learned to eat alone. As his peers trudged from class in packs, watching the pavement, he sat, sullen, as his father drove him home. Somehow, Katsuhiro had never trusted him not to lose himself in chasing his surrounds. The fabric of the car seat would bite into his shorts, and he’d squirm for the window, squealing towards the noise outside: Birds that cawed; scraps of paper that fluttered and choked on smog. That was a fragile era, when his mother still waited, with dry hands and chipped nails, at home. When his father already stank of beer, but still spoke loudly, deeply, boisterously. Again and again, Jōnouchi’s mother would sit her son down, and write his name, stroke by agonising stroke. She’d recite each mora in time with each character. Yet sound would cluster through his head, and his own name would dissolve amid his mother’s instructions, amid the blaze of sunlight trapped on the windowsill behind her. He would write, and the strokes would come out rushed, mis-ordered, lopsided.

Iro wa nioedo

chirinuru wo.

At 10, his father grew quiet, and his mother yet quieter. Silence took up like a plague in Jōnouchi’s head, and swarmed in shapeless formation throughout parched mathematics lessons. Times tables hurled themselves headlong into a skull full of fog, and burst on contact. Are you listening? a teacher asked. How could he listen with a head full of noise, of unspoken words billowing back and forth? He gripped his seat, and glared back. Why should I care, anyway?

When his mother left, his father stopped caring to chaperone him. It had taken Jōnouchi a decade to earn the right to shed his infancy. He resented that it had been this long, so tried to join the huddle of middle schoolers. He told odd stories, and took off, queasy, in front of them. They withdrew their smiles when he approached on the second day. He growled his plaint, and resentment drove him to take the opposite route. He explored back alleys, wallflower convenience stores and dilapidated cinemas; the faster he walked, the more clearly he could see each brick, and the brighter each fleck in the pavement glinted. At speed, he delayed the journey home, and set his eyes on a gorgeous early winter sunset. The colours bellowed, too bold for winter, ungainly and vain. They were glorious.

Jōnouchi came home late. His father glared; fog crashed back down on his shoulders.

Wa ga yo tare zo

tsune naran?

A week before she cleared out too few of Katsuhiro’s belongings and packed too few suitcases, Jōnouchi’s mother drove both children two miles to the optometrist. My son, she explained, reads slowly, yet resents reading; it seems he can’t see very well. My daughter’s sight seems clearer, yet she complains of pain. The optometrist forced Jōnouchi to read down a chart of letters; he fidgeted, and, consumed in memories of a lonely lunch break the day prior, passed with flying colours. When the optometrist flashed a light to photograph his eyes, whatever hideous miracle that was, Jōnouchi screamed.

Katsuya Jōnouchi, the optometrist surmised, had perfect acuity of sight. He sought attention, stimulation. Meanwhile, Shizuka Jōnouchi, who had sat entirely still throughout her examination, had more ragged, derelict peripheral vision than her family had anticipated. Untreated, both your children will get much worse.

And in the months after Shizuka Jōnouchi became Shizuka Kawai and Mrs. Jōnouchi became That Bitch Who Never Cared, Katsuya Jōnouchi became horribly aware of how little time he had to be lethargic. He had to survive this schism; yet as he was, he barely felt capable of thinking. He walked, fidgeted, paced to prove to himself that he was a moving, breathing organism. Yet his father’s frustration would brook no exuberance. Long before Katsuhiro fully committed to flinging glass and spurning his son’s misery, Jōnouchi began learning to move silently, slowly, around his father. He memorised which mats snapped and snagged, which bits of fabric hissed when stepped on. He noted which windows opened most quietly. And yet he never managed a perfect, quiet exit. He couldn’t help but be conspicuous; he could only hope to get out too quickly for his father to react. And, to lift the torpor that followed escape, he would run to school, and, after, run back. Never did the sun shine brighter than when he was moving.

Uwi no okuyama

kyou koete.

When he met Hirutani, did he become more violent? No; every punch he threw during his delinquency had waited, kinetic and desperate, for days, months, years. In classrooms, his sole responses to being ordered around had been sullen deference, with sullenness being his sole demonstration of rebellion. Now, threatened with the obsolescence of his ego, of his perceived freedom, he chained himself to violence, over and over. The first time he punched a man in the gut, he found himself shaking. And rather than sink into sallow, domestic remorse, he slathered himself in white rage. And he went back and he went back and he went back, helpless to his own instincts, trying to dredge the noise in his skull out through his fists. No matter how many punches he threw, and no matter how many he received, he could not stop his head from blazing anew the moment he walked away.

Did Duel Monsters afford him any peace? He would be no man’s losing dog; nor would he be confined to dull celebrity. To play as a strategist consigned him to sitting still, committing himself to gambits he could never entirely trust, to moves that demanded a clear head. To play too whimsically would doom him to inferiority. Thus, he gave half his heart to diligence, and half to sheer fortune. Nobody could idolise his kind of folly, nor devalue his kind of skill. This was Jōnouchi’s will—to eschew having to wait in the mire of expectation; to escape the fog of obligation to anyone’s morals but his own. Honour suited him, so long as it was on his meticulous terms. In games of Duel Monsters, he became a knight-errant of sorts: predictably unpredictable, unexpectedly canny, blindly faithful. With this relationship to his own fate laid out so, he could finally draw cards without fearing those next to come. And thus, hyperkinetic, he found a peace in the game. So he played and played until he forgot how long he’d been playing, and Duel Monsters became as second nature.

Asaki yume miji

ei mo suzu.

Two weeks before Jōnouchi’s graduation, Shizuka invited him to her place to dine. Their father was not to join them. Jōnouchi protested, and his desperation died in a pinprick throat. Wisteria spilled itself over the footpath. Each step threatened to plunge, vertiginous, to the ground.

When Jōnouchi saw his mother, his throat turned to sandpaper. She looked so old.

You cried so much as a baby, she told him. Kicked and screamed to see the world. You weren’t comfortable waiting in your crib—I’d end up coming to you at 4AM, walking you around the perimeter of the house till my heels burned. And you seemed so afraid of all the noises of the night—groaning engines, singing birds. Now, look at you—you’ve grown up so terribly fast.

Could he afford to tell her how even now, he bit down the urge to kick and scream, to launch himself, all fists and sparks, onto his tormentors? No; so, all night, he gripped his glass as tight as he could. The cold lingered and itched on his palms for days. Holding onto things, it seemed, was not so difficult as he’d once believed.

#couple of notes: i tried to write jōnouchi as also possibly having some form of conduct disorder that did not progress to aspd.#as i have neither conduct disorder nor aspd – i can't promise it's entirely accurate #and i apologise sincerely for any serious mistakes. i've tried to avoid stigma but i know i've a hell of a lot more learning to do #jōnouchi is meant to have combined-type adhd here. i have adhd but no diagnosed subtype #however i'd generally say i have an extremely different experience to jōnouchi here. (i'm either hyperactive or combined)#i've tried to stay away from stereotype while also focussing on how a young child might be both overtly and internally hyperactive #and how the display of symptoms might change with circumstance.#moreover; shizuka's eye condition in the anime is left vague and (probably unrealistically) curable #i went with some kind of glaucoma (probably open-angle but i really don't know enough to say).#she probably stopped losing vision after surgery but i doubt she actually got her peripheral vision back #the japanese poem interspersed throughout is the iroha. it was more significant to early drafts and i'm too sentimental to take it out.#i named jōnouchi's father katsuhiro (克弘) because calling him 'jōnouchi's father' got too cumbersome #i didn't really show jonouchi hyperfocussing much or write about his experience of time.#but since he's an esfp i probably need more time to work out how Se dominance could interact with time blindness #anyway. i'll shut up now.#yugioh #yu-gi-oh!#YGO #Yu-Gi-Oh #yu gi oh #katsuya jonouchi #katsuya jounouchi #jounouchi katsuya #jonouchi katsuya #shizuka jonouchi #shizuka jounouchi #jonouchi #城之内克也 #tw domestic violence #cw domestic violence

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