#just because someone doesn’t speak to you in a palatable way

[mochimooon]

DTF Only (Tinder Wh*re) - eren jaeger x reader 18+

pairing: Eren Jaeger x afab! Reader summary: On a six-day Tinder streak, you don't plan to stop for Friday night. Especially when Eren invites you out for a drink. word count: 4500+ notes: Part 7 of DTF Only. Aight, first time writing fanon! Eren. Ya'll know what to expect here. As always indented text refers to reader's messages. warnings: smut, explicit content, explicit language, oral sex (f! receiving), exhibitionism, semi-public sex, degradation, alcohol consumption, toxic power-play, name-calling, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex ☻ masterpost☻

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

Pieck’s message lights up your phone.

Another one??? 

You’ve outdone yourself. Six dates in a row and your streak continues tonight. 

The latest match, Eren invited you for a round of drinks. Simple and low-key. 

As far as appearance goes, you’re mesmerized. His striking features had you scrolling through both his profile and Instagram (included in his bio). Green eyes, tan skin, dark brown hair that fell just shy of his shoulders, styled mostly in a haphazard bun. Not to mention the number of shirtless selfies, it’s obvious: he knows he’s hot.

Arrogance isn’t usually your flavor, but glimpses of a tongue ring challenge you to expand your palate.

He’s such a WHORE!!  You can just tell

Yep. Whore-vibes.  And that tongue ring…😛

lol, freak. I’m so proud of you.  One week and you’re already thinking Colt who?

You laugh at that, albeit it’s a hollow one. A week later and you’re still not sure how to feel, and a part of you is concerned some untapped feelings will catch up to you later. 

Despite the fun you’ve had on these dates, Colt has creeped into your mind a few times, mainly because he’s the last person you were with. However, thoughts of him don’t linger long enough by the time you’re getting busy with your Tinder matches. 

Still, you do wonder what he’s up to. 

Is he on Tinder too in his city? If so, you don’t feel anything strongly about that. 

Just then, you get a new text message. 

Heading out now See you there ;)

Much like the other guys, you and Eren had exchanged personal numbers. You had no problem with it, preferring it that way you could call them if you had to, and vice versa. 

Almost ready 😊 Be there soon

…

It’s easy to find Eren at the bar. You might be pushing your luck, but you’re grateful that every guy you’ve matched with looks like their pictures (and even better in person). 

He’s snagged a table near the bar, a negroni, barely touched, indicating that he hasn’t been waiting long. As you approach, you take this opportunity to assess him, and your face warms the closer you get to the table. 

He’s…attractive, almost painfully so. An effortless kind of swagger in the way he sits on the chair, elbow bent over the edge, a hand stretched out on the table, tapping his fingers. You’re surprised that he’s not mobbed by a flood of men and women right now. 

Walking past the bouncer, green eyes zero in on you, lighting up like a radar. 

Eren gets to his feet, gliding forth to say your name in a smooth low tone. “Hey there, pretty girl.”

You shiver from the toned muscle you’re pressed against. “Hi, Eren, nice to meet you.”

“I opened up a tab,” he says as he returns to his seat. “Someone will come over and you can place an order.” As he speaks, you’re given the first glimpse of that tongue ring. 

You force yourself to look away to keep from drooling over it. “Cool, thank you. I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?”

“Nah. Barely placed this order.” He points to the negroni. “You’re good.”

A waitress comes by in a second to take your drink order. 

“A tab’s open already,” Eren tells her. “Under Jaeger.”

You pause, mind reeling from the name. You wave it off. “Is this your go-to spot?"

Eren finishes a sip, nodding. “Yeah, my friend used to bartend here after college, and he always had the hook-ups. He doesn’t work here anymore, so the perks are gone, but it’s still a nice place to grab drinks.”

Your drink arrives a few minutes later, as you tell Eren about your week, omitting your previous Tinder escapades. He nods and hums to acknowledge that he’s listening, but his eyes are in deep thought, wandering from your face to your lips, down your neck with an indifferent expression. 

When you pause to have more of your cocktail, a smirk ghosts Eren’s lips. 

“So...let’s hear about this ex-boyfriend.” 

You raise a brow, taken aback. Not once did you mention Colt, so you’re at a loss as to why Eren would dig for that sort of detail.

Confused and a little peeved, you say, “That’s an awkward thing to ask about on a first date.” 

“I have a sixth sense.” Eren doesn’t parse his words. “Most women on Tinder are fresh out of a breakup and want to get under someone to forget them.” He shrugs. “Not judging at all. I’m more than happy to offer my service.”

Your brows knit together, unsure of what to do think of that. “Sounds like a hot take. I’m not going to talk about past relationships. It’s boring.”

This yields the opposite reaction you wanted from Eren. Because instead of dropping it, he leans closer, brow arched, ears peeled ready for gossip. “He was boring? How so?”

You purse your lips, averting his question. “What about you? On Tinder for a rebound hook up?”

The whore laughs, hearty and patronizing. “I’m not on the rebound.” 

“So, you’re telling me every date you’ve gone on so far was to serve as someone’s rebound?”

He shrugs again, unfazed. “Maybe not every date, but most. Again, no shade, just curious to know. I feel like I’m right though.”

Is that what you’re doing? Rebound fucks? You don’t see it that way. 

Sounds like he's just nosy. What he plans to do with any information you share about Colt, you’re not sure. But then Ymir’s voice rattles in your head from a phone conversation you had with her earlier that day.

You had just sent her screenshots of Eren’s profile.  

“Hoodrat for sure. I’d be careful, though.”

“Why? If all he wants is sex, who cares?” you had said. 

“I know you’re not interested in him like that,” Ymir continued. “What I mean is that a guy like Eren has a big ego. Game-playing, all that. Knowing you, that might get on your nerves before you get a chance to get naked with him.”

“Meaning?”

Ymir chuckled. “Meaning you’ve got an ego too.”

You wonder then if that’s why Eren’s so interested in knowing about your past relationship. Perhaps, it is a show of ego, a way for him to measure up or out-measure someone you’ve already been with. 

You busy yourself with your cocktail as Eren takes a long gulp of his negroni, green eyes flitting back to the bar. While you try to get to a better read on him, you’re unable to concentrate.

Your mind spins in circles, moving and bobbing like his Adam’s apple. He’s leaning against the barstool, in the same careless swagger. Ego or not, you hate to admit that he has every right to be full of himself.

Setting the glass down, Eren’s tongue falls out in a satiated sigh. You’re not discreet and Eren catches that. He grins, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. The metal stud sways like a pendulum. 

Your jaw slowly loosens, hooded eyes zeroed in on the piercing. 

“You like that?” Eren moves his tongue in a way that prods the stud out further. 

Oh, you like it a lot. Eren hadn’t displayed it fully on his profile, but a few pics of him laughing, you swear you caught the shine of metal in his mouth.

Recollecting your wits, you say, “Tell me about that piercing. Does it hurt?”

Eren shrugs, tapping a few fingers along the table. “Never had any complaints.”

A rush of heat soaks through your skin. You swallow, like a cat fixated on a shiny object. “I meant getting it pierced.”

He shakes his head, grin widening. “Just a little pressure when they stick it in.” This man is so shameless… “Pain is an afterthought.”

You can’t help it, your mind falls back into the gutter, deep into a rabbit hole, curious to know what a tongue like that could do between your legs. 

“I’m guessing your ex-boyfriend didn’t have a tongue piercing either?”

You deflate, irritation pricking the fantasy. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Still hurting from it?” Upon first impression, you didn’t expect Eren to channel anything other than arrogance. His softer tone is a sudden switch that you don’t realize has chipped away at your resilience to veer away from the topic. 

“Never really hurt from it,” you say, indifferent, hoping to put an end to the subject afterwards. “My routine’s changed, so that sort of sucks. I got really comfortable.”

Eren hums. “That’s dangerous. Complacency. I’m going to assume he was very vanilla too?”

You roll your eyes.  

Eren feigns innocence. “What?”  

“I don’t want to talk about breakups, past relationships, none of that…”

“Fine, what about your body count?” He snorts, again, feigning innocence when you don’t answer. “He wasn’t your only one, was he?”

You roll your eyes. Like after, there were also men before Colt. Though they didn’t compare to the roster you’ve had this week. Maybe it comes with age, but your sex life had never been better. “I’m on Tinder, what’d you think?”

This seems to shift Eren’s mood. The snark stutters across his features into a scowl. “Oh…so you’re on Tinder to hook up only?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“You’re not looking for a relationship though.” He leans back, looking scorned. “Body counts going up then.”

What’s his problem? He’s the walking incarnate of a fuckboy, but the idea of you laying up with other guys he doesn’t even know spurs this sudden attitude. You’re strangers, both single, full stop. 

He pushes his tongue against his cheek. “Is there any guy on Tinder you haven’t slept with?”

You balk, brows rising. However, the corner of your lips curl, less angry and more amused. Someone's competitive... “Are you upset that you’re not one of them?”

You expect another taste of his attitude, for his frown to deepen. You do not expect his eyes to light up, like a dare igniting. 

“Oh, you’re a brat.” He tops his drink with a grin. “That’s in my pay grade.”

You shouldn’t entertain this, you already know. You’re both far too old to be playing games for strangers that only met to inevitably hook-up. You also know you shouldn’t be turned on by this challenge across the table, green eyes and tongue-pierced. Heat gathers at the center of your thighs anyway.

“I don’t mind taming a brat,” Eren continues. 

“You’re an expert?” you challenge. “Because I don’t know what brat you’re talking about—"

His laughter cuts you short. “Oh no, you’re a brat alright. Tell me more about those Tinder hook-ups. Any of them better than that boyfriend of yours?”

At his condescending tone, your brow twitches. At the dark lust in his eyes, your thigh twitches.

“You seem really obsessed with knowing about my ex,” you say. “Are you trying to compensate for something?”

Eren tilts his head, smirk stiffening, a crack in his arrogant resolve. “Trust me,” he recovers. “I don’t need to compensate for anything.”

It’s like a bait you can’t resist, wanting to see to that promise. But you restrain yourself. Regardless of your intentions for being there, you can’t feed into ego, his or yours. However, Eren does make it difficult the more he pricks and needles. 

Eren takes your silence as an invitation to barb you more. “If I were to guess, he sucked at getting you off. That’s a shame, you’re too pretty to deal with someone like that.”

You can’t explain it, but you find yourself taking Eren’s bait, defending Colt. “He knew how to love.”

“But he didn’t know how to fuck.” He folds his arms. “You do. That’s why you’re on Tinder.”

Your blood is flushed with heat and agitation. What’s worse it that you don’t mind it, but your ego refuses to let you give him that satisfaction. As much as you would like to hook-up with Eren, you might have to cut your loss instead. 

Finishing your drink, you pucker your lips, tingling with the burn of alcohol. Eren frowns as you rise to your feet. 

“Thanks for the drink. Have a nice night.” 

Spinning a heel, you hear Eren scoff, beckoning you to come back and when you don’t, he clicks his tongue. But you don’t turn back, nor do you flinch when you hear the scrape of a barstool around the call of your name. 

“Shit—I need to close my tab—”

You’re outside, crossing the back lot when footsteps haunt your own, rushing to catch up. “Wait!” Your name spills out of Eren’s mouth. “Wait! Just—wait!”

You peer over your shoulder with surprising level-headedness, but the pulse of your wrist skips, caught in Eren’s grasp. 

Silence ensues as Eren catches his breath, fingers wrapped along your wrist to keep you from escaping. A few rogue strands have come loose along his hairline and his previous scowl inside the bar remains intact, though it has smoothed out since finding you. 

“Yeah?” You level him with the same sharp glare earlier, patience thinning and heart pounding, charged with the adrenaline. “What is it, Eren?”

He leads you a few paces towards a parked black car that you assume is his. 

“You know, you’re keeping me right now,” you say. 

Eren’s eyes snap up. “Whoever they are, they can wait.”

You scoff. “Right, because I was about to run off to my ex-boyfriend, that’s who you think is waiting for me, hm?”

At the mention of Colt, the humor resurfaces in Eren’s face, though it’s pinched with slight irritation. 

Fueled by the tension, you egg Eren on, delighting in the way his hand tightens around your wrist. 

“Like I said, he knows how to love.”

Eren snorts. “Right, right, you mean he bored you.”

“That’s what you say."

“That’s what I know.” Eren’s eyes darken, dropping your wrist to run his fingers along the side of your stomach. “He was gentle, wasn’t he? Because that’s how you like them.”

You narrow your eyes, warmth flooding your neck and gathering between your legs. “You don’t know how I like them.”

Whether it’s the heat of the moment or ego, you refuse to tell Eren that he’s right. Despite how healthy of a relationship, you and Colt had, overall, he didn’t satisfy your sexual needs. Sure, you always knew that, as did your friends. But that doesn’t mean Eren needs to hear it too. With nothing else to say, you fall silent, bristling from Eren’s touch.  

“So, I’m right,” Eren breathes as he leans closer, hands trailing south, beneath your skirt. He flicks his gaze up, and you acquiesce by not pushing him away.  

He finds the gusset of your bodysuit and raises a brow. His surprise fades away in seconds. The crotch of your bodysuit is snapped aside, and you wince. 

Fingers glide along the slit of your pussy that you fight to stand. Eren hisses a laugh, pleased to find you soaked. “Did your boyfriend make you this wet?” A knuckle presses against your center, and you release a shaky breath. “Did he?”

You mewl, shaking your head. 

“Didn’t think he did,” Eren whispers, arrogance distinct. He replaces his knuckle with his thumb as two fingers rub your folds and a third prods your entrance. 

Words evade you, dying on your tongue and you can only manage a gasp when his thumb quickens its pace. 

“Who’s making you wet then?”

The added pressure on your clit makes you gush, and the victory in Eren’s smirk makes it harder to resist his allure. 

You sputter, “Y—you.”

“Hm?” Eren’s third finger inches inside of you like a phantom touch, close but not enough to push past your walls. “Who?”

“You…Eren.” You’re so starved for more stimulation, you don’t care about your ego anymore, gladly tossing it away in exchange for relief.  

A finger slides into your pussy. You moan, tilting your hips. 

Eren breathes a laugh, tongue swiping his lip. “That’s a good little pussy.” He rewards you with another finger, pumping with enough vigor that promises to unravel you within seconds. 

Your back flattens against the side of Eren’s car, chest rising with sharp gasps. Your hooded gaze fixates on Eren’s unshaken stare. His equilibrium combined with deft fingers bring you to the edge, your pleasure almost crests. 

The pace dials down significantly, and you’re rolling back down the hill of a stable mind. Eren’s fingers continue to pump inside of you at a much slower rhythm, the pressure on your clit has reduced to featherlight.

You blink up at him, bucking your hips to reignite the dying embers in your lower belly. 

Eren’s keen on taunting you, pressing onto your clit again with renewed pressure.

Breathless, you say, “Eren, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t listen, wearing a mask of mock confusion. “Oh. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need.” His fingers pull away. 

You snatch up his wrist, a desperate plea in your grip, leveling him with a yearning gaze. “Eren, I want you to fuck me.”

Victory pulls at the corner of Eren’s lips, his hand stroking your face in a delicate manner. “You want to get out of here?”

You rise on your tiptoes, giving him a heavy nod, hypnotized by the tension crackling from your bodies.

“I can take you back to my place. Give you the best rebound fuck of your life.”

You nod again, hasty and urgent, voice lost in the rising tide of desire. 

“You want that?” Eren husks.

You swallow. “Mhm.”

Eren erases the miniscule gap with a press of his forehead against yours, a taunting glimmer in his eyes. “Too bad.”

The car door flies open, and you’re tossed inside, hitting the leather of the backseat. There’s little time to process anything, and no time to adjust your skirt that’s rolled up your thighs. Eren climbs in, pushing the fabric up. 

His mouth is on yours, sucking the air from your lungs. When he pulls back, your head spins. 

“Tinder whores don’t get fucked in private.” Sliding down, your thighs are hitched over his shoulders. “They get fucked in a parking lot.” He flashes the stud on his tongue, moving his mouth to push it out.  

Your thighs quiver, hand digging into the leather seat.

Eren’s gaze falls to your pussy, ego resting on the edge of his smile. “Shit, you should see yourself right now. You’re dripping. You want to me to treat you like a whore. You need me to have a taste, huh?”

You would like to clapback, wishing for something snippy to spill out. But it would betray the anticipation flowing through your body. Whether Eren means it or not, you enjoy his overconfidence, aching at the degradation, growing wetter from it. Colt would never entertain such a concept. 

Pride nowhere to be seen, you nod, biting your lip; pleased and pliant to be the whore he makes you out to be. 

Eren’s brows rise, grinning, nonetheless. He yanks you closer by the hips, and for a moment you’re aware of the open car door. Although the lot is empty, anyone can walk by, sneak a peek over to witness what Eren’s preparing to do to you. And you moan despite all that. 

“Time to chase that drink down.” There’s a strain to Eren’s words like he’s in need to gulp down his drool. He doesn’t, letting his tongue hang and a dribble of saliva meets the slick of your pussy. 

“Oh—oh!” You lift your head, eager to get a visual of what you’re feeling. Eren’s piercing juts out, extending that the hard metal presses onto your clit. Your hips buck up to meet the stud again. 

Eren’s mouth slots over your pussy, dragging his tongue along the slit, tongue ring grazing between your folds. It’s a foreign sensation, sparking more pleasure when it meets your clit again with a flick of his tongue.

Eren comes up, eyes deeper, richer, and lecherous. His sharp inhale sounds more like a slurp. “Fuck…you taste perfect to me.” You whine as his tongue meets your folds again, tongue ring nudging your pussy lips. “Cum on my tongue, yeah?” It falls out like a desperate demand.

“Yeah…ah!”

Eren’s tongue slides into your entrance, pushing past the flesh. You can feel the tongue ring exploring your walls, not as distinct as you expected it to be. However, it’s Eren’s technique that has you staggering close to release. 

He’s ruthless, eating you out with an insatiable appetite. Two fingers press onto your clit, swiping in a stride that sparks your pulse. 

“Ah—Eren—” You grind against his hold, climbing that peak of ecstasy. You grab hold of Eren’s hair by the bun to keep yourself steady.

Eren swaps techniques, fingers replacing his tongue to massage the spongy spot inside of you while the tip of his tongue laps at your clit. The pressure from the stud and the curling of his fingers, set you free, the world unraveling in the backseat of his car as you cry out your release.

Eren’s fingers pull away, he slurps you up as your body twitches around him, recovering from the rush of pleasure.

Your mindless as he cleans you up, hand carding into his hair lazily. 

It’s like time’s been pulled from beneath you when he resurfaces, crawling over.

Tilting his head, he smirks. “Are you still there?”

You nod slowly, head floating. Words are robbed with Eren’s mouth on yours. His tongue slides along yours, stroking you with his stud. 

Breaking apart, you and Eren catch your breaths. 

At the sight of Eren’s dark gaze, your mind returns to you, punctuated with a telltale bulge pressed against your pussy.

Pleasure renews and you shudder.

“We’re not finished yet,” Eren says.

You lick your lips, brows furrowing together to fill the blanks you’re unable to verbalize. 

Eren’s amused by your silence. “Nothing to say to me? Does my little whore need a break?”

You bite your lip again, needing more friction between your legs. Trembling thighs wrap around him.

Eren takes your chin, leveling you with a look, overflowing with confidence. “Use your words…I haven’t fucked you dumb yet.”

You shake your head, watching a flame flicker behind Eren’s eyes, a challenge sparking there. “No, now, c’mon, just fuck me already before I change my mind.”

You both know you don’t mean it, but it doesn’t stop Eren from teasing you.

His arms cage you on either side of your head, voice dripping with arrogance. “I think I’ve done my part convincing you, angel.” 

Your pussy weeps at the pet name. 

In a flash, Eren pushes away, hunched over to reach in the center console. His teeth rip into the condom’s wrapper, watching you with hunger. He undoes his belt, shoving down his boxers in haste.

His cock springs free, pearly with precum. You want to get a glimpse of his manhood, but you’re pinned to the leather. He moves so quickly, doesn’t bother to stroke himself, already rock hard and ready to burst. The condom slips on, and he draws closer, yanking your thighs in. 

The tip of his dick kisses your entrance. The pressure alone is enough warning of his size. You meet his eyes and spread your thighs as far as they can go in the tight space. 

He falls forward again, elbows bent on the seat your head lays upon, green eyes fixed on your face. He pushes into you. “Gonna mold this slutty pussy to take me.” 

The stretch pushes air from your chest in a pleased moan, and he slides in until he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

He gives you no time to adjust, doesn’t waste any to flex his ego anymore. He fucks into you hard and erratic, hovering so close to your face.

It’s an oddly intimate view, you forget that you’re being fucked in the backseat of his car in a parking lot. However, you’re a sucker for eye contact and relish his hooded gaze, bewitched by the feel of you clenching around him. 

Labored breaths fill the backseat, steaming up the windows from the passion between your bodies. 

Eren grunts out your name. “Fuck! This pussy is still so tight—”

On cue, your walls clamp down on his girth, an animalistic sound rumbles in his Eren’s throat. 

“Fuck—fuck—” Eren’s tongue pushes past your lips. He pulls away with a smile, a surprising tenderness in his eyes, contrasting his rough nature.

Eren’s hand plants itself against the fogged window, and the other travels south, rubbing your clit in a hurry. “Want you to gush over my cock.”

You writhe like a spirit reawakened, clawing at the leather interior again, and that’s when you feel it—arching your back as you cum for the second time. 

Eren’s hips slam into yours, hot pursuit of his own release that tears through him a moment later, in a long-satiated groan. 

You watch him fall apart, eyes shut, brows pinched. His jaw hangs open, giving you another peek of the tongue ring.  

A moment passes. Eren’s fingers slip from the window, arm shaking from the impact of his climax, his body sinks. 

You press your hands against his chest to keep him from crushing you. 

Eren catches himself, hovering over you. “Thanks.” He blinks at the window with a grin. “Look at that. We fogged up the place.”

Your head tilts. Fingerprints streaked along the glass, clashing with the sudden chill that enters the backseat. 

You scoff lightheartedly, reeling from the throws of passion and the excitement of having tried something daring, something you’ve always fantasized. A carnal itch has been scratched. 

Car sex. You’re a new fan.

…

Eren gives you a lift home. 

You point out your complex. “That building just before the stop sign.” 

The car rolls to a stop at the front, the engine shutting off. 

Unbuckling your belt, you pull out your keys, hand on the door.

Eren takes your other hand, reeling your attention back as you turn to him. 

He’s smug, and you can’t deny that you feel the same way. Though what he says takes you aback. 

“Um…I didn’t mean any of that by the way. You’re not a whore.”

Your shoulders slacken with the release of a faint laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t take you seriously. I didn’t mind being called one.” You bat your eyes. “Or…fucked like one.”

The corner of Eren’s lip curled, widening with pride. “I’m up for another round, any time.” He kisses your knuckles. “I’ll text you.”

Like the other guys, Eren was not a bad lay. But with him, you don’t put stock into anything he says. You’re not naïve, too mature to act like a school-girl to his charms. He’s a womanizer at heart. 

A new notch on your belt is all. 

You open the door. “Sure, have a good night.”

☻ masterpost☻ taglist: @moonmalice @daisynik7 @theragethatisdesire @squidalapobre @arlerts-angel @shepnicolo @porples-blog @jeanboyjean @fictional-d-supremacy

#eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger #attack on titan #eren x reader #eren x you #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #eren aot #eren smut #aot smut #eren jaeger smut #dtf only series #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x you #snk #aot #snk smut #mochi-writings

[0th3rw0rldl1n3ss]

So tired of lateral ableism coming from autistics and ADHDers who have symptoms that aren’t severely debilitating. Like just because you don’t need meds or accommodations to function or you can conform well/adapt to NT society to a certain point doesn’t mean other autistics or ADHDers will also be able to?

This post brought to you by a group of people getting frustrated at us for being unable to keep up with a game, us saying “sorry I didn’t take my meds today” and them ALL glaring at me and scoffing about how well they haven’t been on ADHD meds for years. Every single person in the room (there were more than 2 other people). Like ok, good for you, I NEED them to function?? (and even then, I still can’t “pass” as NT.)

We feel so out of place even around other people who are also autistic and/or ADHD. Because so often the other(s) will show just enough traits to seem a bit quirky/odd to NTs, but not get read as visibly ND (except maybe under unusual circumstances, but generally speaking, they can mask effectively enough that NTs wouldn’t perceive them as “having something wrong with them”) but we’re noticeably “slow/r-worded” in a way we’re frequently, under normal, non-extreme circumstances, unable to hide. We’ve heard so many things about how other autistics and ADHDers found other neurodivergent folks and finally felt safe and comfortable after a lifetime of being judged in NT-dominated social circles, and we wish we could relate to that, but honestly we don’t feel any safer with someone just because they’re also autistic/ADHD, because in our experience they’re just as likely to be ableist to us as NTs. Sometimes even worse, because at least NTs can’t say “well *I* can handle (insert task) and I’m autistic/ADHD too so what’s YOUR excuse?”

But yeah. Some of y’all hate to acknowledge that autistics and ADHDers with higher support needs than you exist and you’re quick to throw the rest of us under the bus just because you’re so desperate to make autism and/or ADHD seem more palatable to NTs. Moderate-higher support needs neurodivergents shouldn’t have to beg lower support needs neurodivergents to have solidarity with us.

#lateral ableism #autism #adhd #audhd #neurodivergent #moderate support needs #high support needs #low support needs #medium support needs #autistic #actually autistic #actually adhd #actually audhd #ableism #disabled #disability #developmentally disabled #developmental disabilities #disabled acceptance #disability issues #disabled community #neurodivergent community #audhd things #level 2 autism #disabled solidarity #learning disabled #rant #semi speaking autistic #semi verbal

[blues824]

I love the way you write the headcanons about the First Years + Ortho going to the reader's world! Could you do the same with the Second Years, please?

Riddle Rosehearts

Favorite Country/City: He would love to go visit Stratford-Upon-Avon in England, as he is one to enjoy being in the city of one of the most famous playwrights and authors in history: William Shakespeare. Also, there is tea available at most shops, so he will still be able to follow the Queen of Hearts’ rules.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: Again, his favorite dish is strawberry tarts, and they apparently originate in France as tarts were used to showcase the seasonal not-berries. That aside, he also does appreciate French cuisine as a whole.

Favorite Drink: Again, he enjoys tea, but I think he would like strawberry lemonade. More specifically, the strawberry lemonade from those restaurants that put those slices of strawberries into the drink.

Favorite Souvenir: A small Shakespeare bust that he can place on a bookshelf as a book holder.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He absolutely loves classical music, specifically from the Classical Era. He prefers the classics: Bach, Beethoven, Marianna Martines, etc. Favorite song would be Für Elise, by Ludwig van Beethoven.

Favorite Movie: The Phantom of the Opera, but the 1927 silent film version.

Ruggie Bucchi

Favorite Country/City: I originally was going to say that he would have liked Luxembourg because it’s one of the richest countries in the world, but I decided that would be too easy. I feel like he would love to go to Cairo in Egypt. It’s very rich in history and culture, and I’ve heard they have good food (someone confirm, plz).

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His favorite food is donuts, and I looked it up and they apparently originate from either Ancient Greece/Rome or Medieval Arab chefs. That being said, either cuisines (Greek, Italian, or Middle Eastern) would be his favorite. He has a very diverse palate.

Favorite Drink: Depending on if he prefers coffee or tea, he would like either Mazboot or even Zjada coffee, or karkade (please correct me on any of this, I am not from the Middle East and have never been so if it’s incorrect you can tell me. Got this info from online).

Favorite Souvenir: A small, handmade pot that he found at one of the markets. He thought it looked interesting and thus purchased it. The vendor was really kind as well.

Favorite Singers/Songs: This is kind of hard, but AMERICAN HORROR SHOW by SNOW WIFE would be his favorite, meaning hyperpop would be his favorite genre. He gives me TikTok boy vibes for some reason, and he would also like most songs that popped up on his FYP.

Favorite Movie: Lion King, and I’m not trying to be funny. He just likes the “It’s not funny, Ed”, where Ed erupts even more into laughter. It makes him snicker a bit as well. Maybe I was trying to be funny.

Azul Ashengrotto

Favorite Country/City: He would love the township of Cavendish in Prince Edward Island, Canada. It’s got the ocean, it’s got the small town vibes, and it inspired L.M. Montgomery’s fictional town of Avonlea in Anne of Green Gables. Speaking of, he would totally resonate with Anne because they both entered a society that they weren’t knowledgeable of the norms of. 

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: Because he loves fried chicken, I would say his favorite cuisine is that of the Southern United States. You can’t go wrong with coleslaw, cornbread, green beans, mashed potatoes, and Southern hospitality.

Favorite Drink: Iced Tea, specifically from the Southern states as well. If we’re talking about cocktails, then Long Island Iced Tea would be his go-to. However, he prefers to drink at home because he doesn’t have to call anyone to pick him up.

Favorite Souvenir: It’s stated that he likes collecting coins, so yeah.

Favorite Singers/Songs: This man loves Elvis Presley’s music, and no one can fight me on this. He’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, so he loves either Heartbreak Hotel or Can’t Help Falling in Love is his favorite song.

Favorite Movie: Romeo and Juliet, the one starring Leonardo DiCaprio. The movie’s great, the actor not so much. He’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, as I stated before, so he would very much like a Romeo to his Juliet. Mans wants to be in a tower with a window sill and he wants someone to be standing below to talk to in a romantic way.

Jade Leech

Favorite Country/City: He loved going scuba diving in the Mariana Trench, and since the Trench is located between Hawaii and the Philippines, I think he would love staying in the Philippines. The city he favors would be Boracay, even though it’s in the middle of the Philippine Islands and a bit further from the East.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His favorite dish is octopus carpaccio, and it’s kind of obvious that it’s Italian. He does enjoy Italian cuisine as a whole as well. However, if we are taking the octopus components of the dish, then I believe he would also be a lover of Japanese cuisine.

Favorite Drink: It is recommended that with octopus carpaccio, you should have a Pinot noir, and he agrees. However, if he’s just going to a bar, he would order a limoncello spritz. It’s typically a post-dinner drink, and he likes the lemon flavor along with the kind-of-like-soda, kind-of-like-wine game that the drink offers him.

Favorite Souvenir: He loves smaller, easily portable trinkets, so as basic as it is he loves collecting keychains and magnets. His favorite keychain is a shell that had a hole in it, and a small child actually handed it to him out of nowhere. He got a ring and attached it to his backpack.

Favorite Singers/Songs: His favorite song is 24 / 7 / 365, by Surfaces. It’s laidback, it’s chill, and he likes it. Songs that remind him of the beach are ones that he likes. He plays it when he’s attending to his terrariums. 

Favorite Movie: Jaws, and none of the sequels. All the sequels suck. He has watched the first Jaws so many times that he sings along with Quint when he starts singing “Farewell and Adieu You Fair Spanish Ladies”. 

Floyd Leech

Favorite Country/City: He wants to go places where he can do things whenever it strikes him. He would also want to go somewhere with clear water. Thus, I believe he would love to go to Tahiti. There’s a market, he can go scuba diving with whales and sharks, he can go surfing, he can go to the museum, and if he wants to stay in his hotel room then he can.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His favorite dish is Takoyaki, so I think it’s safe to assume that he likes Japanese cuisine. However, it is stated that shiitake mushrooms come from mountainous regions in China, Japan, Indonesia, and Taiwan, so he likes any dishes without the mentioned mushrooms.

Favorite Drink: As funny as it is, Sex on the Beach, as it’s a summer drink that he loves to enjoy on the beach. Also, he has the emotional maturity of a 7th grade boy, and the name was hilarious to him. 

Favorite Souvenir: Two little figurines of a guy and a girl dancing with each other. They fit together in a way that was complex, making it a puzzle of sorts.

Favorite Singers/Songs: Either Laffy Taffy or Sneaky Link 2.0 are his favorite songs. This man is searching for his Mrs. Bubblegum. He is looking to be somebody’s sneaky link. He lives for drama, and no one can tell me otherwise.

Favorite Movie: The Meg, because who doesn’t love a giant, prehistoric shark that escapes from the gaseous layer at the bottom of the Mariana Trench? He has sharp teeth like the megalodon, and he likes the jumpscare where the shark jumps up.

Kalim Al-Asim

Favorite Country/City: He loves tropical areas, but he loved the Bahamas and the capital of Nassau the most. The resort there was great, and the people were very friendly. It was a laid back time, and it was not even a five minute walk to the beach. Plus, coconuts grow there apparently (correct me if I’m wrong), and coconut juice is his favorite food.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: A lot of Thai food, specifically the desserts, use the flesh of the coconut, so I think I have substantial evidence to say that he does like Thai food. He would be very hesitant to try Thai curry, though… unless he had somebody to try it with him.

Favorite Drink: Piña Colada, doesn’t matter if it’s virgin or not. He loves the song that accompanies it as well. Anyways, the drink is a very fruit-filled drink. He thinks it’s the right amount of sweetness, so he loves to enjoy it.

Favorite Souvenir: A singular photograph, as he somehow found himself involved in a volunteer program and he took a picture with children from one of the villages he was volunteering at.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He also likes songs that remind him of the beach, and I stated that he probably likes the song Escape (The Piña Colada Song), but it’s not his favorite. His favorite song would be Celebration, by Maffio, Farruko, and Akon (feat. Ky-Mani Marley).

Favorite Movie: I have a feeling that he would love the movie Shrek. It’s funny, a lot of memes have been made from all the movies, all the sequels are great. What’s not to love about the movie(s)?

Jamil Viper

Favorite Country/City: He gives me a vibe that I resonate with on the historical front, so I would think he would like to visit somewhere in the Middle East, as that is where ancient Mesopotamia was. Specifically, he would love to visit Ur, in Iraq. Not only is it located in a desert (familiar territory), but it’s one of (if not the) first cities in the world.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: Unlike Kalim, he loves curry, so that gives me reason to believe that he would enjoy Indian cuisine the most. Syrian food comes in second for him (I spend a lot of time at my friend’s Syrian house and they make good food… I’m hungry now).

Favorite Drink: This was difficult, but I feel like he would move towards margaritas, and not just because of the song. Because curry can be spicy, I would say he likes a spicy margarita as well. His favorite non-alcoholic drink would be a mangonada.

Favorite Souvenir: All the books he picked up to learn different languages. He learned along the way as well, and all of the books have annotations within them so he has them for future reference.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He likes breakdancing, so he likes any song he can breakdance to. I am not very involved within this genre of music, so after doing some research I have come to the conclusion that he would love the song The Witch, by the Bamboos.

Favorite Movie: Footloose, as it’s a movie about dancing and rock music being banned. He saw it because it looked interesting, and he learned the Footloose dance. Also, the song Holdin’ Out For a Hero makes him feel like he wants to be someone’s hero.

Silver

Favorite Country/City: Carrickfergus, as it holds the Carrickfergus Castle. It may be a Norman castle, but it’s because of the history (and the fact that he may be based off of both the Princess and the Prince and thus deserves a castle {personal opinion}) that he enjoys his time in the town.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: This is the first time I’ve actually dove into investigating Silver’s likes and dislikes, and apparently he likes mushroom risotto, which is thought to originate from the Italian region of Lombardy.

Favorite Drink: He strikes me as the type to like wine, and not the bitter stuff. He likes sweeter wines, especially white wines as they pair nicely with the risotto he loves.

Favorite Souvenir: A journal, in which he writes about his many journeys around the world. 

Favorite Singers/Songs: I think he is a Swiftie. That being said, his favorite song would be Love Story, as he is looking for his Juliet. However, he is not one of those over-excited fans who will tear someone up for saying they don’t like Taylor Swift’s songs. He will just judge them quietly.

Favorite Movie: Gladiator, partially for the plot, partially for Russel Crowe. It reminds him of the training he had to go through as a knight.

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst #twst wonderland #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #riddle #twst riddle rosehearts x reader #twst riddle rosehearts #twst riddle x reader #twst ruggie #ruggie x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie #ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie x reader #twst ruggie bucchi #twst ruggie bucchi x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul x reader #twst azul #azul x reader #azul #azul ashengrotto #twst azul ashengrotto x reader

[charliedawn]

I can't stop thinking about how the hannibals would react. If you refused to go out with them because you thought that they ask to mess/as a joke with you.

As someone how was asked out as a joke. Cuz I was the weird kid and still does not believe people when they do it for real

"You and me are going out on a date tomorrow."

Morgan doesn’t mess around. He’d have the papers ready and ask you without a moment of hesitation because he is sure you like him too. He isn’t one to ask unless he is sure it will go according to his calculations. But, he froze when you answered with a laugh.

"Ah ! Good one, Morgan. But no." You then resumed to reading your book and Morgan frowned. His first reaction would have been to take offense by your refusal or lack of acknowledgment. But, he was too stunned to speak.

"Well…That is rather disappointing." He then sat down next to you and looked at you again before scratching his chin pensively. "I thought you would at least think about it. Or maybe even give me a chance to defend my case."

You glanced back at him, but didn’t know how to answer. You finally sighed.

"What is there to defend ? I have been tricked before. I refuse to be tricked again…"

Morgan stayed silent for a moment before taking your hand and tracing circles on your skin with his thumb.

"I am not one to joke. I have an awful sense of humour. My brothers can testify."

You chuckled and Morgan smiled before intertwining your fingers together.

"…But, I make you laugh. And that miracle does deserve a chance, don’t you think ?"

You had never seen Morgan seem so hopeful before and thought about it for a second before smiling back.

"Fine. One date."

"Would you be interested in allowing me a delightful evening in your sweet company ?"

Hannibal Jr. is a gentleman through and through. He would find a moment for the both of you to be alone (without the children around) to ask you and try to be as gentle as he can, as he would know your earlier struggles with dating. He’d try to reassure you the best he can and convince you that he isn’t a man to come back on his word. (He really isn’t.)

He also made sure the date is worthy of your place in his heart and take meticulous care as to prepare the perfect meal for you. He prepared the room and took a long time to choose his best suit for the occasion. He wanted to beat all those times you hadn’t been properly invited on a date.

And when you came in a sweatshirt and pants and said that you thought he was joking…His smile slightly cracked because of how upset he was. Not at you. Of course. But the simple fact that you hadn’t thought that he was telling you the truth.

He took your hand and kissed the back of it—deliberately staring into your eyes.

"…No need to worry, love. You will believe me. Eventually. Now, come on. I have a bœuf bourguignon that just waits for your exquisite palate to taste…"

He smiled at you before leading you inside and closing the door behind you…You would believe him once you’ve seen everything he’s prepared for you. He would open your eyes. Eventually.

Hannibal Jr. could be patient.

"…Date me. Please." Peter asked you and you were momentarily stunned. You had known Peter for a while now, but you couldn’t have possibly expected him to actually make a move. You didn’t know what to say. You shook your head.

"Why would you wanna date me ?" All of your past requests had been lies or ways to make fun of you…You knew Peter to be better than that. But, you still doubted that he really wanted to date you because he liked you, or because he felt pity for you.

It was Peter’s turn to be stunned. You were gorgeous, funny and beautiful. He couldn’t possibly understand what would make you think like that ?

"Because I love you."

Your eyes widened and you looked up at Peter who didn’t shy away from your gaze. He held it and even leaned forward—his lips mere inches from yours.

"…Please. I love you, Y/N." He repeated and your heart hammered in your chest as you saw him close your eyes and lean forward. He wanted to kiss you. That much was obvious. And you hesitated. You didn’t want to be hurt again…He seemed to understand and sighed before pulling you towards him and resting his forehead against yours "…I love you, Y/N. Please. Give me a chance. I promise not to disappoint you or make you feel bad. Ever."

You almost cried at his pleading voice, but finally nodded as you buried you face in the crook of his neck.

"…Alright. I trust you."

"…Would you like to…go on a date with me ?" Kevin had rehearsed his speech in the mirror at least 30 times before finally finding the courage to ask you. He smiled at his small accomplishment…until he heard your answer.

"…I never thought you’d play such a cruel prank on me, Kevin."

His eyes widened and he frowned in incomprehension before running a hand through his black locks in frustration.

"Wait…You think am fuckin’ joking here ?" He sighed before sitting down next to you. "I know am an idiot, but come on ! Gimme some damn credit."

You looked away and sighed.

"Come on. We both know you’re outta my league. And guys like you never go for women/guys like me."

Kevin shook his head again in incomprehension. What did you mean by that ? Guys like him ? Did you…Did you think he wasn’t good enough ? He suddenly froze at the realisation. You were right. You were too good for him. Who was he kidding ?

Kevin sighed before standing up and nodding.

"Fine. You’re right. Guys like me have nothing to do with women/guys like you…I’m sorry I even tried."

He then proceeded to leave, but before he could get out…You embraced him from behind and held him closely.

"…I am sorry, Kevin. I didn’t mean it like that."

He knew exactly what you meant…He just didn’t want to hear it. He turned around to hug you tightly.

"…Don’t insult my tastes again. I like you means I like you. I don’t give a toss if you think you not good enough for me, because that would mean you think am a dumbass who decided to ask you on a whim. And I ain’t no bloody dumbass."

Your breath hitched before you smiled and nodded.

"Alright. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Kevin…"

Hannibal Sr. knew you were attracted to him and your past experiences. He didn’t want to rush you, but he also knew he couldn’t wait forever. So, he eventually hinted that he may enjoy to spend a little time with you. But, he knew you wouldn’t believe him at first.

He kissed the back of your hand and smiled.

"I never joke about the matters of the heart, my little lamb."

He then stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, his knuckles barely grazing your lips as he smirked. He then playfully winked at you.

"Besides…I am quite curious as to what a little lamb like you may offer me ?"

He then stroked your lips with his thumb and his eyes stayed there for a moment before he grinned and raised his eyes to meet yours again.

"…Do tell me when you are ready to trust me."

He then walked away and let you think about it. Hannibal Sr. can wait. He has spent a lot of time in prison and knows the values of patience and determination. With time, you’d come to realise that he is the man for you. And until then ? He’d let you think and slowly come to the obvious conclusion…

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #the hannibal family #hannibal siblings #peter hannibal #morgan hannibal #kevin hannibal #kevin hannibal x reader #morgan hannibal x reader #peter hannibal x reader #hannibal jr #hannibals #hannibal series #hannibal x reader

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about: Bug’s self esteem and Bucky’s thoughts on her body

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Bug (+Brother’s best friend Bucky, plus sized fem reader)  CW: Struggles with physical self esteem (younger Bug), talks about comparing bodies and societal beauty standards, past fat phobia and bullying, language, references to sex, oral sex and fooling around, switches from 3rd person to 2nd person POV at the sex part. 

By the time we meet Bug as an adult we aren’t going to see a lot of physical self-esteem issues, in fact she carries herself with a lot of confidence. She wears whatever the fuck she wants, styles her hair and makeup however she wants, and carries the mindset of “I don’t owe it to anyone to be pretty or palatable.” This is because in her 20s she’s really started to unpack how much bullshit comes with a. existing as a woman in society and b. existing as a plus size woman in society. So if she doesn’t want to shave her legs she’s not going to, but you bet your ass she’ll still be in shorts if it’s hot, humans have body hair get the fuck over it. 

I’d say this turning point for her really came around the time that Bucky got arrested for kicking the shit out of her ex (as referenced here). It had been devastating at the time, and even though Bucky swore up and down he’d happily do it again consequences be damned, she realized someone she cared about who clearly cared way more about her than said shit head ex was being inconvenienced for something at the end of the day didn’t really matter all that much. Like who was her ex to even say that? And why would she care about some loser’s opinion? 

That was not the case when they were growing up, however. If we were to purely just focus on younger Bug we’d see a lot more insecurity born from her experiences with bullies and the fact that the token actresses chosen to play the “fat friend” in movies and TV were still significantly smaller than her. It also didn’t help that Bucky’s on again off again girlfriend throughout high school was tiny so she’d look at her as the gold standard for what Bucky must want and spend tearful nights comparing her thigh size to her, her waist size, etc. 

That, that attention to Bucky’s “type,” comes into play later on because as discussed , Bucky ends up sleeping around a lot. Which ends up revealing that Bug is in fact not the exception- we’re not going to see that trope of “would you date a plus size girl?” “Of course, it’s what’s inside that counts.” Bucky isn’t looking past Bug’s appearance to date her.  Because yes of course what’s inside matters but Bucky wasn’t sleeping around based on personality, and his choice of partners revealed that he has an appreciation for all different bodies. So does he find Bug beautiful on the inside? Absolutely. Does he also just find her incredibly fucking hot? Full send. And if he suddenly finds himself sleeping with more people that bare a resemblance to her leading up to him realizing his feelings surely that’s just a coincidence...

Speaking of sex; Bucky will dick you down six ways to Sunday and talk about how incredibly sexy your body is the entire time, how receptive it is, how welcoming. Bucky already found you desirable but that desire only increases in intensity the more he spends getting to know you and your body. He wants your plush thighs wrapped around his head, wants the full weight of you on him as you sit on his dick, wants to lick every single stretch mark, bite and mark the dimpled skin of your ass, press wet open mouthed kisses to the ample swell of your stomach, he wants to worship you. 

TLDR:

Bug is the type to say “If I’m too heavy to lift you better work out.”

and Bucky is the type to be in the gym because he needs to drag you down the bed, throw you across the room, fuck you up against the wall...

#this could've been longer #we didn't even get into the fact that bucky is actually the one with self esteem issues #at least more prominent ones #bucky and bug #hwita #biker!bucky smut #smut adjacent #biker!bucky #bucky barnes x reader

[lakesbian]

so i blinked & accidentally wrote 2.4k words of alec analysis, content warning for extended discussion of child sexual abuse

i am actually like. genuinely surprised by how common of an alec opinion it is that people would probably feel more negatively about him if we had a chapter from the perspective of one of his victims or if we had more details on his life prior to the undersiders, because the idea goes directly counter to one of the core Things you have to get if you want to understand alec: much like taylor, you should take absolutely fucking nothing he says about himself at face value, because--also much like taylor--he is Absolutely Fucking Terrible at understanding himself!

and speaking of taylor, she is also absolutely fucking terrible at understanding alec. nearly all of the commentary we get on alec is from taylor’s point of view, and she’s frankly incredibly ungenerous towards him.

her very first thought about his childhood mentally classifies him as not being one of heartbreaker’s victims, and the pity she’s offering him wears out pretty quickly when he doesn’t speak about the abuse in terms she finds palatable--while she does secondarily recognize that living with heartbreaker impacted him on some level, she regards him primarily as someone who does Bad Things because he’s a Bad Coldhearted Person.

she and alec are fairly similar--they’re both people who have been abused, people who are remarkably desensitized to violence because they’ve been abused, they’re both people who have ended up on the same villain team where they regularly commit terrible acts of violence, and they’re both people who are terminally oblivious to their own emotions while they commit those acts of violence. their actions are both similarly horrifying from an outside viewpoint, but by sectioning alec’s actions off in her mind as being horrifying because he’s ontologically a bad person w/ no interiority or justifiable reasoning for his actions, she doesn’t have to face that her own actions are horrifying regardless of how she justifies them to herself. neat little compartmentalization trick! alec stabbed that guy to death with a fork because he’s a Bad Person, but when she used triumph as a bargaining chip by filling his lungs with bugs, it was for Understandable and Interiority-Having reasons, so she’s fine.

what this means is that nearly all of the commentary we get on alec is from the perspective of someone who has a very strong psychological incentive to avoid being fair to alec.

much of what taylor thinks about alec is blatantly irrational and wrong, and the fact that he (similarly emotionally oblivious wrt himself + probably entirely unaware she feels this way about him) never directly confronts her misconceptions means that we spend the entire book being told “hey, here are the reasons you should think alec sucks” without any alternate viewpoints to consider. i think that if we saw the worst things pre-undersiders alec did without the repressed way undersider alec describes them or taylor’s biased perspective obscuring what actually happened, most people would feel Really Fucking Bad for him!

even in the very first discussion of his childhood, it’s clear that taylor’s reading of the events is wrong--aside from the fact that she’s not classifying the kids as victims (girl what), there’s these lines from alec:

“[He] pushed my limits, made me do stuff that was dangerous, stuff that was hard on my conscience.”

“I had convinced myself I didn’t care about the people I was hurting or about this guy I’d just killed, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I don’t, still. Dunno.“

taylor’s response to this is:

“He’d been made to do it, he’d been in fucked up circumstances with no real moral compass to go by, still a kid. The way he described it, though, it didn’t sit well with me. Cold blooded murder.“

that is not how he described it. 

1. he outright says that what he was forced to do was “hard on his conscience”

2. he outright says that he “had convinced himself he didn’t care about the people he was hurting,” i.e he was a 10-13yo child being forced into extreme violence by his ridiculously abusive father & he naturally repressed his emotional reaction to it because there’s no other way to feasibly psychologically cope with feeling the full brunt of the emotions that induces. he’s not a Cold Blooded Bitch, he was a kid desperately convincing himself he didn’t care because he couldn’t care if he was going to survive.

3. yeah, he says “maybe i don’t [care], dunno.” this is because the 3+ years he spent learning to cram every emotional response he had to his abuse into a box & then solder-iron that box shut do not magically disappear the second he escapes from his father. it’s not at all unreasonable that taylor (also 15 and horribly emotionally repressed) misses this, but the “maybe” and “dunno” are indicators that he genuinely can’t tell whether or not he cares! as imp points out after he dies, it’s not that his emotions aren’t there at all, it’s that he has no ability to read them--much like taylor, he’s great at convincing himself of things regarding his feelings and then genuinely believing those things. he’s fifteen and has been out of his abusive home for all of 2.5 years--he’s not capable of grasping the full impacts that the abuse had on his psyche, and the way he describes everything from a detached perspective and waffles about on allowing himself interiority is a natural result of that.

if we saw this or any of the other murders alec was forced to commit as they were happening, we would not be feeling less generous towards him, we would be thinking “i want to beat heartbreaker to death with his own bones, because this is an evil thing to do to a child.”

okay, that’s the murder out of the way. now onto the significantly more controversial aspect of what alec did as a 10-13yo.

taylor generally regards alec as a special type of ontologically real & distinct class of person called a rapist. many people in the fandom share her viewpoint on that one. and, like, objectively true--he is a rapist, he raped people. but applying “rapist” as a descriptor meaning “evil piece of shit who sucks, but i guess he gets some leeway since he was a kid, but he still sucks and is bad and probably a sociopath” is massively flattening the circumstances under which he committed sexual violence & severely underestimating how it impacted his psyche.

taylor--and again, most other people in the fandom--tend to unilaterally go “gross and fucked up, he sucks, moving on” during bits where alec discusses that aspect of his childhood. but if we actually pause to read between the lines for the details and then address the actual context (which alec is not capable of doing, because 1. emotional repression to hell and back and 2. it was, as he said, normal to him), it becomes very clear that it’s unjustifiable to slap the “Sucks + Evil Predator” label on him and then move on feeling comforted by the straightforward moral judgement.

“’Sure,’ Alec drawled. In a more normal voice, he said, ‘But what I’m saying is he wouldn’t mind. Now, it’s been a little while, but there was a time when I had someone in my bed every night.’

‘When you were with Heartbreaker,’ I said. From the look of disgust on Aisha’s face, and what I imagined was a similar expression on my own, I suspected we were on the same page. At least on this one thing.

‘Sure. Cape groupies, my dad’s girls, people I used my powers on toward the end.’

There wasn’t even a trace of guilt or shame on his expression, no regret in his tone. He just looked bored.

He went on, ‘What I’m saying is that I’m speaking from experience.  Having someone cuddled up beside you, even if it’s a little bit of a pain in the ass, having that body contact isn’t so bad. Especially when you’ve had a bad day.’”

like, okay. let’s unpack all the implications there.

1. alec is bringing up this whole topic as an attempt at empathy--aisha is effectively saying “i’m pissy at taylor for being intimate w/ brian while he’s experiencing the worst pain of his life” and alec is effectively responding with “i support them, because when i was in similar circumstances, physical intimacy made me feel better.” it is extremely notable that he’s implicitly comparing brian’s “bad day” (getting fucking bonesawed!) to his own “bad day” (living with his dad)!

2. alec grew up in Emotional Neglect & Abuse: The Household. this is established in buzz 7.1--he recounts that there was zero attention paid to him & the other kids except for when heartbreaker was terrifying the shit out of them for either a perceived slight or in an attempt to force a trigger event. he also grew up in Sexual Abuse: The Household. as detailed in one WoG, the heartbroken were a massive group hiding out in significantly less massive houses--6-8 people sharing a room was common. alec was constantly in close quarters to normalized sexual abuse from the ages of zero to thirteen, e.g the memory mentioned in his interlude where he starts crying over not being given the TV remote and a sweaty, wearing-nothing-but-briefs heartbreaker stomps out of the bedroom to terrify alec for interrupting what was, very presumably, a marathon of sexual assault. exposing children to abuse happening in their environment is a form of abuse itself. there’s also the WoG in which this is mentioned:

“Look at it this way - at the age that many boys are raising an eyebrow at boobs, family members were saying 'hey, here are all the boobs you could want...’ Interested in dick? ... Dad's not that into it but a sister can hook you up. At an age when many are just figuring out enough of the world to ask 'what's heroin?' or 'what's weed?' he was given heroin and weed and everything else that was theoretically obtainable and told to only indulge if it was someone else's body. At an age when many are saying 'sex must be awesome' he was given free reign.”

which is sexual abuse! it is in fact exceedingly sexually abusive for alec’s father & older siblings to go “hey, 10-13yo son/little brother, i notice you are Hitting Puberty! here’s a fucking tidal wave of sex and drugs, have at it.” he didn’t magically get the idea to commit acts of physical violence w/o grooming & coercion from his family, and the same goes for the sexual violence. it’s not a hard extrapolation to make that after 10 years of isolation and abuse he leaps on the chance for physical intimacy, for something that actually makes him feel good when good is a feeling he’s never really gotten to have before--and how would he have a frame of reference for this being bad when his childhood was one long march of his own autonomy being violated + constantly seeing other peoples autonomy violated?

alec did not leave the house as a kid. alec Wasn’t Even Thirteen. the people he assaulted were victims, but he’s inarguably not the person with primary culpability for the assault--that would be the family members significantly older than alec who directly groomed him into hypersexual behavior, kidnapped + brainwashed victims also significantly older than alec, shoved them at alec, and said “have at it, buddy.” (which he, considering it to be normal and desperate for any positive attention or emotion, immediately adopted as a coping mechanism.) it would be absurd not to regard alec as a victim in this circumstance as well, and the fact that the way he was victimized led to him hurting people doesn’t change that. he was a chronically abused and manipulated preteen--he couldn’t issue meaningful consent or exercise any real autonomy in his decision-making. his lack of emotional reaction to casually sharing the story isn’t a moral failure, it’s an indicator of how badly the abuse skewed his perception of what’s normal.

and despite All Of That, taylor’s immediate reaction is to judge his lack of guilt, shame, or regret. which isn’t a wholly irrational reaction from her by any means--it makes complete sense given who she is and what information she has. but it does mean that the judgement we’re given on alec in this moment is nearly entirely detached from the material reality of what happened & how that reality should reasonably be regarded.

3. i think i’m literally the only person i’ve ever seen point this out--the first category of person he lists off as having slept with is “cape groupies.” as in, fans of capes. 

what kind of person do we suppose would be a fan of heartbreaker’s cult? what kind of person would have a thing for heartbreaker’s sexual abuse and mind control cult? the fact that he specifically mentions “cape groupies” means these were people who liked the heartbroken and were picked up by it voluntarily--what kind of person would want to sleep with one of heartbreaker’s barely-pubescent superpowered children?

yeah, that one sounds less like alec committing rape and more like heartbreaker providing access to his children to pedophiles w/ a Thing for the powers involved, presumably because it was a fantastic honeypot for people he could drain for money or otherwise use as a resource (which was his primary method of staying undercover & getting by). which alec parses as normal enough to casually slip into a random sentence.

alec’s childhood was not a lengthy tour of him committing sexual violence because he sucked, it was him being sexually abused, and a portion of that abuse included him being groomed to perpetuate it onto others. because that’s one of the Core Things about his character: he was a victim of grooming to perpetuate a cycle of abuse, he ran away from it at an impressively young age, and he spent the rest of his life making stumbling attempts to jerry-rig a distinct system of ethics & decision-making so that he wouldn’t be like his father.

no, the abuse he experienced & the way he responded to it wasn’t straight-forward or palatable. he’s not a stereotypical or idealized Good Victim--none of the traumatized teens in worm are. the specifics of what happened to him & what he did as a result are uncomfortable. he participated in hurting other people very badly. he still doesn’t really understand everything that was wrong with what happened. he doesn’t open himself up for pity or add caveats when discussing it to make it clear that he’s viewing his childhood the Right Way. he doesn’t feel or talk about it the way he’s “supposed” to. he doesn’t understand why or care that it upsets and disgusts people. the abuse left him with low to no empathy, and he’s not ashamed about admitting that.

and absolutely none of that changes that he’s still undeniably a victim, and if we saw any of the things that happened to him from the perspective of anyone involved, if we saw the abuse he experienced without the normalized lens he views it through or the villainizing lens taylor views it through--everyone would probably feel really fucking bad for him.

or in other words: alec vasil is a little boy whose life fucking sucks, and we all have to be nice to him, okay?

#worm #parahumans #alec vasil #GOOD LORD I BLINKED AND THERES. #checks notes. #t. Two Thousand Four Hundred Words In Here! #adding this one to the alecnalysis canon ig #anyway yeah we already saw the worst thing he did w Moral Culpability onscreen during his interlude #everything else is like. that's not really a moral failing so much as it is really sad #alec essays #alec vasil heritage posts

[princelylove]

The Father.

Synopsis: A character study on Bruno Bucciarati. 

Warning: pet names used in italian are masculine, general yandere behavior, nsfw implication at the end but no real nsfw, referenced violence

Bruno is not really naturally the fatherly type, but he chooses the responsibility anyway. He hides that he smokes, doesn’t eat until everyone else has, and very rarely slacks off. Although he’s serious about work and his family, he tends to be playful and lighthearted. It’s rare to see Bruno in a bad mood. He’s a family man. Loves the holidays, always hosts. Wants to be called papa or dad- Bruno’s secretly hoping that one day someone will slip and call him ‘Daddy,’ how delusional. He took the responsibility from his own father for his health and safety when he was little and didn’t really blink, but who takes care of Bruno? No one! Because providers don’t need to be babied, obviously, and that’s exactly what he is. The provider. The man of the house. 

His favorite albums from Miles Davis are Agharta and Bitches Brew, which are jazz-fusion, avant-garde jazz, funk rock, and jazz-rock. I tend to think of jazz as slow, easy listening, but it’s wild, it’s experimental, it’s everything Bruno doesn’t allow himself to be in favor of keeping his perfect family fantasy safe and sound.  The Bucciarati household is always loud- whether that be from Narancia and Pannacotta “playing,” in Bruno’s words, or from the little record player that lives in the living room. He offered to buy Pannacotta some vinyl records, but he never took him up on it. It’s a bit of a sore subject. The bookcase has a cardboard box in it filled to the brim with albums from Miles Davis, Sade, Frank Sinatra, Tupac, and his darling’s alleged music taste- he guessed based off of what was in your room. How did he get in your room? Don’t be silly, he never said he was in your room. 

Bruno takes up two personas in order to maintain his fantasies, his passione one and his fatherly one, and flips back and forth depending on what’s going to work best. It’s rare to see Bruno just… being himself. He’s obsessed with how things are supposed to be- he wants what he never had. A big, happy family. 

His passione one is where he gets his sadism out of his system, where he tells himself he’s just doing whatever it takes to keep his family safe and sound and not thoroughly enjoying beating the shit out of whoever Polpo tells him to. He grabs your wrists too tightly when moving you out of his way, gets a little too loud with you, sometimes. He doesn’t hit his darling normally- no, that’s not what a good husband would do- but sometimes you just make comments that burrow themselves under his skin, and he can’t help but react. 

He doesn’t shy away when he does it, either. He always doubles down, giving you that firm tone he gives Narancia when he slacks off on important jobs, or how he would talk to someone while working a typical repo job. It’s like you’re talking to someone else- he doesn’t even bother to fake his normal smile. 

“Watch how you talk to me before you lose the ability to speak at all.”

It’s short and sweet. Nothing more needs to be said. 

He holds his head in his hands, later, thinking about how badly he just set himself back. At least he has the courtesy to open a window to let the smoke pour out. 

He doesn’t like smelling like cigarettes.

He isn’t really meant to be a father. He doesn’t really know how, but he’s trying to. He’s not meant to be a husband, either, with the way he treats his spouse, lately. But he’ll smile, and take that gentle tone, because he must. The world may be cruel, but he must not be. He has to work to not have that type of reaction when you speak to him so harshly. Maybe if he were a better man.

His cheeks hurt from smiling too much. He’s trained himself so that his smile would always reach his eyes- he even trained his relaxed face to be a more palatable version of his actual relaxed face. You won’t open up to him if he scowls at you, or glares at you instead of looks. He wants everyone to think he’s gentle- he wants to be the father that everyone always comes back to visit once they’re all grown up. A better version of his father, who Bruno would argue was perfect, for what he had. 

His darling is meant to be his spouse- his other half. He longs for someone he can shower with pet names, someone who will melt into his hands, someone who appreciates just how much effort he puts into everything. It’s rare that Bruno can fully relax- there’s always something to be done, whether that be at home, or by Polpo’s order. 

But… He doesn’t truly trust his darling. He loves to micromanage, and it makes him anxious to think about you holding something sharp or standing on something unstable. Please just let him reach whatever it is you need for him- his stand can bring things down if it’s also out of his reach. 

Why do you want to drive? He knows how to drive. Why did you bring your wallet? Of course he’s going to pay for you- he asked you out, didn’t he? Oh, let's not cut up your own snack, you could hurt yourself… Bruno is begging to be needed. He finds his identity in being the man of the house- the provider, the father, the husband, but you just aren’t giving it to him, and it's driving him up the wall. 

It’s suffocating. It’s patronizing. You can shave by yourself, you’re not a child. You know how to take something out of the oven- you’re not going to use your bare hand to touch the metal that was just sitting at 177 degrees celsius.

A little note sits on your nightstand. It’s meant to be a bonding exercise, as he leaves a new one every morning, but you don’t speak italian. Bruno’s handwriting is neat and bubbly- why he put so much effort into making it legible but not in a language you understand is beyond you. 

‘Amore mio -

Sono innamorato di te. Non aprire la porta a nessuno.

Avete mangiato qualcosa? 

Tuo marito.’

You’re left to sit and stare at it, if you’d like, or get on with the chores you know you have to do before Bruno gets back.

It’s little moments of peace- of genuine privacy- like these that keep you going. You’ve been getting up earlier for this exact purpose. Bruno would really rather you sleep the entire morning away and wake up to him coming home in the afternoon, arms open and smiling, calling his name, maybe saying something like “Come back to bed, my love.” … but it’s healthier for you to be up during the day, getting some sun from the open windows, and engage your mind with some tasks that aren’t instant-pleasure based.

But sleeping in a little bit isn’t a crime. You’re welcome to sleep until Narancia gets up- he needs you to walk him through the steps of making breakfast, again. Don’t worry. You won’t be touching the stove, or using a knife. Just guide him through it verbally, and comfort him if it fails.

It eats Bruno alive when you don’t immediately greet him at the door.

He sighs a bit at the snack you brought him. The bowl makes a clack sound as you set it down on his desk. You took such care in peeling and slicing some apples for him, he should be grateful. 

“Bello. What’s this for? I’d rather you not use the peeler unsupervised.”

“Wasn’t. Narancia was watching.” 

Bruno bites his lip a bit, but is quick to fix his face. He smiles at you oh-so-lovingly. “I didn’t know he was warming up to you, amore. Did something happen?” His hand reaches for the bowl, his wrist sits on the old wood of his desk, and his fingers tap the brim ever so lightly. He’s debating eating it to ‘please’ you or not, debating if he can hide his distaste for the fruit from his almost-spouse. So close.

“No.” Your answer is simple. It’s behaving without submitting. He wants the full story. Wants to know why his son is hovering over his darling- if this wasn’t done by a peeler, and actually done by the small pocket knife he trusted his son to have around you- 

“Perhaps it’s the exposure to you, then.” He really does it. He pops one of the smaller slices into his mouth, and chews. His shoe makes a distinct tap as he bounces his knee under his desk. As much as he adores you, his fondness for apples is like his fondness for the boss.

You hum at his act of ‘love,’ and wait for him to finish chewing, and actually swallow. When he notices your stare, he opens his mouth to display that he actually did.

“See? There’s no need to fuss, I’m not having issues with eating. I eat very well, actually.”

Of course his mind jumps to you being concerned for him. When you don’t respond, he sighs a little bit, and stands.

“Amore, is there something you want to talk about? I’m open to your worries. That’s what I’m here for.”

The clack of his shoes don’t comfort you. 

His outstretched hand doesn’t ease your worries.

His voice doesn’t soothe you.

“I love you, tesoro mio.” His lips graze your cheek, “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like I’m going to eat you.”

His hand rests on your waist, pulling you in closer.

“Unless you’d like me to.”

#yandere bruno bucciarati #yandere bruno bucciarati x reader #god this took forever #my italian is rusty give me a break if the grammar is a bit off

[powderblueblood]

please do something with nancy wheelr i miss my baby

-🧞‍♀️

SAVE ME FROM WHAT I WANT - nancy wheeler

author's note: my beautiful jean genie anon, i love you so much for asking for this and i hope to god you like it. this honestly maybe might be a prologue to something bigger i'm toying around with (spot the references l o l) but-- let's just get into it, shall we??? content warning: nancy wheeler being semi in denial about her sexuality, nancy wheeler is a lesbian, mentions of pussy eatin but no actual pussy eatin, references to complicated stancy and jancy, mention of parent illness, a little angst and a little fluff word count: 1.7k

The first time Nancy Wheeler kissed a girl was not a light bulb moment.

There were no choirs of angels singing, no great and fantastic revelation about who she is. 

Because it’s not like she hadn’t thought about it before.

Nancy, a student of the human scene, has entertained the curiosity the same way one might like, want to see what happens when they throw a watermelon off the top of an eleven story building. The fall and the impact will surely be thrilling, but then there’s the cleanup. Did you know it’s illegal to throw watermelons off buildings in most US states? So theoretically, if she were to throw the watermelon, she could always toss and run. But then she’d have to live with the guilt of not going back and owning up to her mess. It could have really hurt someone. Maybe it did! 

But the temptation to throw is still there. 

Anyway, she doesn’t think about it that much. So it’s fine. 

She only thought about it when her feminist lit professor paused at her desk, returning the paper she’d written about Gloria Steinem infiltrating the Playboy Club. Professor Gonzalez, who Nancy can’t quite bring herself to call Flo despite her insistence, has sleek black hair that tumbles over her shoulder like dark and deadly sand through an hourglass. It fell in a sheet then too, almost hitting Nancy in the face as Flo told her, “This is great. I know Gloria, and she would totally love this.” 

Despite Nancy’s best friend derisively protesting that Professor Gonzalez does not know Gloria, are you shitting me, Nancy entertains daydreams where she and Flo and Gloria Steinem meet up in a dark bar for a gorgeous, stimulating meeting of the minds. In some versions, Flo goes home first, leaving Nancy and Gloria alone. In other versions, the versions that throw heat on Nancy’s cheeks even just thinking about them, Gloria goes home first and Nancy and Flo are staring at each other through the brine-heavy buzz of dirty martinis. 

Nancy doesn’t even like dirty martinis. 

She discovered this at some dorm get together or another, where one of her similarly-affected-by-pretentiousness coursemates attempted to mix them. Badly, she assumed, because they tasted like crap. She winced on every sip. 

“Someone once told me these were supposed to taste like pussy,” her best friend had said from the common area couch, to which Nancy had snorted, Jesus!, a little gin and vermouth and brine coming out of her nose. 

“And?” That came from a girl in a smart ponytail, who was wearing smart suit slacks and a smart sweater in ultra smart, muted colors. She had taken a seat next to Nancy on the floor by the fire, and Nancy found herself awkwardly adjusting her off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. She should have dressed up for this, right? But these common room salons were always happening, and it felt like it was so hard to gauge the dress code. 

“How does that flavor profile match up?” 

Nancy realized that the low tone this girl was speaking in wasn’t meant for the room. It wasn’t even meant for her best friend, who’d posed the question. It was just meant for her. 

Ah, Nancy mouthed. “Um. I don’t know. I’ve never… tried it.”

Oh, the girl mouthed back, her head cocked toward her shoulder. “Maybe you should think about expanding your palate.” 

Nancy’s stomach had jumped and she had drunk the rest of her shitty martini way too fast. By the time she had figured it was time to head to bed, her head felt like it was floating a couple of inches above her neck, and she was hand-in-hand with the smart girl from the fire. 

Back slumping against the door in a clumsy stumble. Nancy giggled. The girl, who said her name was Sal, which Nancy thought was very glamorous, leaned against the door next to her. 

“I wish I dressed like you,” Nancy said, reaching out to finger the arm of her sweater. Cashmere. Something expensive. People were always wearing expensive things here. They looked so grown-up, so continental, compared to Nancy’s department store skirts and pastel shades. 

“We can swap outfits,” Sal hummed, the words coming from low in her throat as she tilted her head towards Nancy’s, “if your roommate isn’t home.”

Nancy Wheeler, even four crapshoot dirty martinis in, is not obtuse. Seeing double might make it a quadruple entendre, but she still knows one when she hears it. 

“I… have a boyfriend,” she’d whispered, almost into Sal’s mouth. That was, at the time, only half true. She and Steve were still navigating long distance in a post-Jonathan-breakup world. It wasn’t perfect yet, so no promises were made. But history weighed heavy on them.

Sal reached out to pluck at Nancy’s old sweatshirt, the one she’d cut the neck out of to make it drape around her shoulders like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. It was a comfort thing, an old blanket, a teddy bear. “A Hawkins Tiger, no doubt?”

“Used to be.” 

“And what does a Hawkins Tiger know about pussy?” This, Sal had whispered into the shell of her ear, arm tightening around her waist. Her lips met that spot of skin behind Nancy’s ears that she liked to have touched, how did Sal know that. Giggling lowly, Nancy tilted her head to meet Sal’s lips, the kiss so small and so delicate that it hardly felt like launching anything at all. No great pull, no absolute passionate urgency. 

Suddenly, as Sal flushed her chest against Nancy’s and deepened the kiss, she had a vision of splattered watermelon. 

Projectiles are so dangerous. 

“They know… more than you’d think,” Nancy said, and smiled, and slipped away from Sal and into the darkness of her bedroom. 

Better to be safe than sorry. 

The second time Nancy kissed a girl, she didn’t even look like herself. 

She had come stomping into her best friend’s off-campus apartment (this girl being one year her senior) with her makeup kit in hand, like she was cashing in a makeover coupon that was about to expire. “Please, help me out here. I need to– it needs to be different this time.”

Now, that statement could have meant anything; it being New Years Eve, which they were about to celebrate, it being the most recent iteration of her breakup with Steve, it being her entire vision of herself. 

Nancy was fashioned into a vixen of epically out-of-her skin proportions, but she loved it. And maybe it was the bottle of cheap champagne they’d indulged in while getting ready, but she couldn’t quit gazing at her sparkling sapphire eyelids, the dress with chains for straps draping over her lithe little frame, the body waves her perm had been gelled into. She felt so far away from the hardheaded provincial do-gooder she’d admonished herself for being, a tiny bumpkin of a fish in the humongous, rushing, risque pond of college life. She felt alive and mischievous, like a nymph, her blood sparkling in her veins like the bubbles in her coupe.  

She and her best friend set off out to a party, shivering against the sub-zero temperatures and whooping like hyenas all the way there. Arms linked, sharing what little body heat they had, their mood soon flatlined as they settled into the festivities– average college fare, you know, with all of their other friends already paired off for their New Years’ kisses. They were the only two single people there, it seemed– she, recently liberated and her best friend, taking her seasonal sabbatical from mistletoe-themed hookups. It reminds her too much of a boy she knew in high school, though she’d never admit that. 

But Nancy knows. And Nancy loves her, despite the collegiate wild streak that has alienated her a little bit. And Nancy wanted to show her as much. 

Before the countdown even began, Nancy entwined their glitter painted fingers and said, “Hey! Promise me something?”

“Anything, Pants.” 

“Promise me we’ll always be as fun as we are right now,” she said, beaming. “Promise that no matter what happens, we’ll never lose it.” 

Aw! her best friend had mouthed, and took Nancy’s heart-shaped face in her hands. She leaned in, lips pulling Nancy’s in. Like tulip petals, Nancy had thought, but hadn’t exactly known why. They kissed and kissed, as the countdown raged and the ball dropped into sparkling smithereens. And as she felt her best friend’s tongue try and brace against her lips, Nancy pulled away. They stood together, forehead-to-forehead, giggling again. 

When their bubbles finally flattened, they spent the rest of the night and much of the morning talking about what life would be like if they could be together– because as much as Nancy loved her, and as fun as kissing her was, it was no watermelon. “It was a gas,” her best friend said, in that Fitzgeraldian way she had about her. 

They would celebrate the anniversary of what could have been, if they only worked out every year after.

Her first year out of college, Nancy spent her nights praying for a thrill. Six months filled with pulling doubles at a college bar in Indianapolis, hospital rooms, speaking to doctors when her mother couldn’t, fighting against her brother’s sullen silences and explaining to her sister what remission meant. Misery metastasized into monotony. She started staring down watermelons at the market. 

And she knows that’s a terrible thing to say and think, but it’s true. Even with all the support she had from Steve, who never knew exactly what to do when she’d report on her father’s diminishing health with the cadence of a newscaster, or even the help she was getting from Eddie, who took her on as a roommate in his shithole apartment. He got her a job in that divey college bar so she could be closer to her family as they all fell apart, shuttling her back and forth to Hawkins in his van. He was a better sibling to Mike than she ever was, she thought. Mike certainly seemed to like him more. 

The first time Nancy Wheeler realizes she really, really, really wants to kiss a girl, she stinks of fryer grease and spilled beer. And she should have expected it.

Expected to see her, anyway. 

Steve had told her about it weeks ago, but she had smoked half a joint of Eddie’s without telling either of them and zoned out. Very unlike the Nancy Wheeler that Hawkins had once known. 

She should have expected to see her, but here she is. Like a shock to the system, a last alarm. Nervous hands curved around a glass of Pilsner. Baseball cap on backwards. Cheeks ruddy with the chill of the city. 

“Oh! Hey– hi, Robin.”

#powder room talk #Anonymous #n. wheeler by powder #nancy wheeler fic #nancy wheeler x reader #(if you squint 👀👀👀) #ronance fic #nancy wheeler IS a lesbian #blurbs

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 2: Barefoot in the Wildest Winter, Catching my Death

Heeeeeey. Welcome back, I call this a mini chapter. It's still almost 3400 words. Thats insane of me. This chapter is

Clove centric/ Clato

20 months after the war/ 7 after the epilogue of ARWBFB

Ironic because the starbucks I wrote this in was so cold my fingers were fucking numb, which you will understand the irony of once you read it.

This is not..intense. It's just a palate cleanser after the Glimmer Prequel I posted this week. I think everyone needed it. I honestly wrote it because we got 10 inches of snow last week and currently are getting multiple more inches as we speak.

Anyway!

Chapter title from Evermore (Taylor Swift)

Masterpost

AO3

Theres also a good bit of cashmere/enobaria mentioned in honor of @bodyelectric77 giving me brain amoebas. I'm just going to tag @kentwells because this whole sequel is your fault. Anyway! Love y'all! love the besties! love everyone! ( I just..love love),

By virtue of the location, the widespread villages littering the biggest mountain range in Panem like sprinkles atop a cupcake, District Two gets substantial snowfall. The kind of snow that allows an extra industry for capitol elites to come and pretend to live like a district citizen in a heated, maintained cabin on the mountainsides, where people can party and celebrate the simplicity of a winter snow in the way that only someone who doesn’t have to worry about keeping heat on can do.

 If you were a child in the district without the commitment (Privilege? Curse?) of training, you could celebrate heavy snowfall with snowball fights followed by hot chocolate with your friends in one of your living rooms. If you were a trainee, a possible tribute, snow meant drills in the cold, running despite snow reaching your knees, agility trials on ice. If you were a trainee with just enough of a rebellious streak, snowfall meant you snuck out with the other kids in your class and rode makeshift sleds down the hills otherwise used for terrain testing. And if you were a trainee that got caught, snow meant laying on your back in a bank of it, in shorts and t-shirts, until your skin burned and your body ached. If you were the right kind of District Two training kid- the punishment was worth the glimmer of childhood you got to experience. 

The snow was not even the worst part– District Two was extremely cold. Not the type of cold where the cute jackets and scarves produced in District Eight would be sufficient, but the type of bone chilling cold that it was a miracle the majority of the population did not freeze to death by the end of a particularly bad winter. The academy just factored the weather into training– figuring out ways to layer, to stay warm, how to get rest in these types of conditions, and how to keep at peak performance despite below freezing temperatures. The embarrassment of a tribute losing because they lost grip on a weapon (“because of the weather” is an unacceptable excuse), is deeply ingrained in any child who has gone through training in District Two. They considered it to be a privilege to train in such harsh conditions, a leg up on competitors of how to deal with what could be thrown on them in the arena. Weather was not an excuse for failure.

Clove, of course, knows these things. Years later she can handle Brutus’s remarks about her clumsy frozen fingers almost ending her life, but at the time it was an insecurity that was fortunately never addressed due to the scandal of her long-term hidden relationship and accompanying secrets coming to the surface. 

Despite her games being a literal arctic blizzard, the snow and the cold had not bothered Clove in the immediate after her games. Sure, there were times where if she closed her eyes long enough on her porch that it felt like she was back in the arena for the briefest of seconds. However the heat of adrenaline that rushed to her chest brought her right back, and when her eyes would fly open and land on her Victor’s Village yard she’d be snapped back into her new reality. A reality of survival and victory.

She was even somewhat fond of the snow, with the recollections of childhood, of times her and Cato had snuck out back in the dead of night to “practice” in the wintry conditions. 

“If it weren’t for your hair you’d blend right in.” Cato teased, but his hands slipping under her arms and knees revealed that he meant business. He tossed her, as hard as he possibly could, into an adjacent snow bank, where her tiny teenage body did indeed slip under the entirety of the pile. The fifteen year old girl would have in fact blended in if not for the deep espresso color of her hair. And the constellation of freckles all over her skin. And the deep evergreen color of her eyes. None of which, Cato knew, were normal details to notice about one’s training partner. 

The brief distraction would always be enough for Clove to grab him around the ankle, pull his feet out from under him, and bring him tumbling down right into the snow beside her. 

They’d always sneak back in with icicles in their hair, water dripping off their clothes as the snow melted away, and a redness that danced across both of their noses and cheeks. Sometimes the only thing that could properly warm them up after was sharing the same dorm room bed, with snide remarks from Clove about how he may as well be a human heater. While those remarks may be snide, they were never a complaint that is. 

It wasn’t snow after her games that bothered her, and truthfully, last winter hadn’t even been too terrible. Maybe somewhere, some cosmic control of the universe decided the people of District Two (realistically, the people of all of Panem) had suffered enough the previous year during the war. A couple of inches here or there, temperatures that dropped but never quite hit that bone chilling type of cold they were so familiar with. It was cold but not cruelly so, and that was nothing short of a miracle considering how many District Two citizens were displaced and without housing as a result of the rebels’ bombing. Those signature temperature dip and the blizzards would have been catastrophic to a district that was already facing such immense population loss. 

Now, over a year and a half since the conclusion of the war, brutal weather was back to strike their home with a bite. 

Multiple feet of snow combined with temperatures plummeting to near zero, both confirmed what Clove knew was coming: Winter in District Two was back with a vengeance. 

While Cato had been thrilled to have a classic District Two winter; to take his little sister sled riding, to introduce her to hot chocolate and the power of a hot bowl of soup at the end of a day in the cold (courtesy, of course, of Clove), Clove had truthfully been dreading the impending storm. 

The cold, quite frankly, hurt. 

It did not hurt from the biting sting of cold wind against flesh or because of tingling fingers and ears from too long outside; no, it hurt deep in her body, in every single movement of her joints. It hurt like her skeleton was crackling, like the marrow inside her bones itself was forming ice crystals that shattered with her movement. It wasn’t just the flexion of her fingers and shoulders that hurt at this point. It hurts to exist. It felt like her ribs were cracking with the expansion of her lungs. With every step, a dull pain inside of her hip sockets begged her to stop moving and just rest. She hadn’t been prepared for every joint that had been dislocated and every healed fracture to remind her that she was never truly going to be able to heal from what Snow had done to her. 

Clove, for the first time, understood what they meant when they called it bone cold. And holy shit did it hurt. 

She tried the rational and logical ways to warm up. She tried a shower with water so hot it should have blistered her skin off, but only slightly brought her down from the feeling of ice in her veins. She layered on two, three of Cato’s already oversized sweatshirts, swimming in layers of clothes that made her look like a child playing dress up without any warmth radiating deeper than her skin. She had laid in bed, weighed down by a comforter plus another ten pounds of throw blankets, that didn't even touch the ache inside her. 

All this is to say that Clove tried a lot before her desperation for any comfort resulted in her current position. On the floor…in front of the fireplace… both on top of and underneath the same ten plus pounds of blankets she had dragged downstairs with her. Even this, the combination of blankets, heat, and Cato’s clothes were only enough to slightly tamper down the ache. 

Still, it was apparently just enough for her to fall asleep that way, because the next thing Clove knows, she’s being gently shaken awake with a foot on her shoulder hearing the panicked whispers of “Babe….babe…Clove..babe…Clove..are you alive?” That can only possibly come from Cato, who is insistently shaking her awake. “Clove?”

“Hmmm?” Clove murmurs, peaking one eye open to glance up at the man oh so kindly waking her. He stands over her, flecks of snow melting on the tips of his hair, cold water running off the black waterproof fabric of his coat and onto her face all the way down where she lays under him. “Move back, you’re making me colder.”

“Are you okay?” He nudges her again, but kneels down to closer to the same height as her. He reaches out with an ungloved hand, and the second his icy fingers touch her face Clove recoils into her blanket shell. From this height Clove can see the redness along his cheeks and over his nose that makes him look closer to twelve than twenty three. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I’m cold Cato, and it really fucking hurts.” She whines, tucking her hands into the blankets with her. “I can’t get warm.”

“Right..okay…did you try the bed–”

“Do you think I laid on our living room floor without trying the bed first?”

“Okay, what about those really hot baths you like, I can take you-”

“Cato. I tried it. This is all that helps.” Clove whimpers, rolling from her back onto her side, facing the blaze in the fireplace. 

“I’ll be back just… Give me like..fifteen minutes.” Cato stands, and is already taking long strides upstairs before Clove even gets a moment to ask where he’s going. 

She lays there for what feels like years in the glow of the fireplace, in the warmth it irradiates and the minimal relief it provides. She feels the presence of him behind her, the light tugging of her blankets, before she sees him. 

“Don’t unwrap me, Cato, I’m warm-”  Clove protests, but when she feels large, warm hands sliding under her layers and practically wrapping around her torso she melts. “You’re warm, oh my god.” 

She doesn’t see him smirk, but knows him well enough to know he is, before he twists her to face him with the easiest twist of his wrists. He flashes her a grin, before pulling her flush against his bare, warm chest. Clove notices, absently, the way his wet hair falls just over his forehead how it did only in the immediate time after he showered until it dried.

“I’d prefer hot but I'll take it.” Cato taunts lightly as Clove buries her cheek against his chest, right over where his heart. “Comfy?” He teases, and a furrowed brow and a single narrowed green eye looks up at him in protest.

“Very.” Clove sighs, curling into him as his hands travel along the skin of her back and bringing heat with them. “You’re like a personal heater.”

“You could have called me, Clove…” Cato reminds her, tucking one leg over both of hers, using as much surface area contact as he could to bring her relief. “I would have come home.”

“You were with your sister, I wasn’t going to interrupt.” She doesn’t mention the embarrassment, the humiliation even, that she felt at the newest physical reminder of her time in the Capitol. A girl who used to love the snow, who loved the cold, now in pain greater than she’d ever admit to her husband. There were some things she didn’t even want him to know– her reduced pain tolerance, being one of them.“How did she like it?”

“She loved it!” Cato lights up, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes as he recounts his afternoon playing with his little sister. “Mom about killed me when she found out I was letting her go down the hill alone, but she had fun. No bones were broken.” 

“Mmm, remember that time we found a trash can lid, and I sat on your lap as we went down that big hill behind the training center in the middle of the night?” Clove muses, freeing her hands from her blankety protection and tucking them against his abs. She holds back a giggle at the way he flinches away from her cold touch, his muscle flexing under her fingertips. 

“You mean when we slammed into the brick wall and thought you broke your nose? And the giant bruise on my forehead that looked like you decked me with the handle of your knife?” Cato muses, wrapping Clove even tighter in his grasp, smiling to himself when he realizes that all the layers she used to try to insulate herself are his.  “Of course I remember.”

“Your entire body weight landed on me and crushed me into the wall, yeah, I thought I was broken.”  She wants to lift her head to scowl at him, but she is simply too warm, too comfortable, too safe right now to care. “You were giant, then, too.”

“We’re just lucky it was Brutus that punished us, not Enobaria.” There is a fond smile on his face as he thinks back to what cannot even be considered a simpler time –surely, laying on the living room floor with his wife, no games in sight, was far simpler than being fourteen and grasping for a glimpse of childhood– but certainly a nostalgic memory. 

“Lucky? He made us run four miles barefoot, Cato. I would have taken whatever Enobaria was going to throw at us.” Clove tucked her icy feet against his for emphasis, and Cato actually flinched out of the way that time. “See? You still don’t like cold feet.”

“Speaking of Enobaria…doesn’t she have that hot tub, why didn’t you go over? She’s in One isn’t she? You would have had it to yourself…” One would have thought, twenty months into sharing custody of Enobaria with Cashmere and District One, they’d have gotten used to her schedule, used to her not always being readily available at their beck and call.  

So many things had kept Enobaria in District Two, of course, in the past thirty some years of her life. Be it the limitations of interdistrict travel, the secret nature of her relationship with Cashmere (who had her own limitations, of course, considering the extent of the Capitol’s influence and abuse on her for over a decade), her commitments to her district and training, or maybe even Clove. Many reasons had existed to keep the Victor woman home, and now in the dawn of a new country, Enobaria had taken her well deserved freedoms. 

Of course, that did not mean that they could keep track of her. 

Some may go as far to say that Clove, Cato, and even Brutus, missed her sometimes. 

Not that a single one of them would ever utter those words to her.

“I thought about it.” Clove sighs, turning her face to press the other cheek against his skin, equally warming her face. “But they’re actually here, I guess they’re here for a while…until Glimmer has the baby. Cash wants to stay in One for a few extra months straight after, I guess, so they’re making up time here for now. And I did not want to interrupt something over there again, especially not in the hot tub…” She shutters, not from the cold this time but from a distasteful memory that she clearly has brought to the surface. “Besides…I didn’t really want to go outside.”

“It’s kind of funny that Enobaria and Cashmere act like kids with divorced parents…back and forth back and forth to split their time evenly. Why don’t they just stay here?” Cato raises an eyebrow, a coy smile on his face. “District Two is obviously the better option.”

“Cashmere can’t leave her brother and sister, you know that. And she’s definitely not leaving now that Glimmer’s gonna have a whole kid soon.” Not just a kid, a little girl, a fact that Clove had to hear from Glimmer multiple times a day. “It would arguably make more sense for her to move to One if we’re suggesting permanent moving..and you know she isn’t going to leave here.”

“Enobaria would never survive with a neighbor named Rhinestone.” 

Clove’s laugh is muffled against his chest, but he’s right. Splitting their time, like kids traveling between homes on holidays, was going to be their best bet. It didn’t make it any less funny, to imagine the mentor they all know and love spending half her time there.

Her laugh fades as her smile falls, and Clove can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I have to lay on the floor like this, I know it isn’t comfortable.”

“Clove..”

“I’m serious. This is just another new weakness, I guess. Just another thing Snow took from me.”

Cato’s hand slips off the skin of her back and Clove bites back a groan at the loss of warmth, before his hand holds the exposed side of her face. He doesn’t force her to look at him, simply strumming his thumb along her cheekbone. “Clove? I will bring the mattress down here, and we can sleep in front of this fireplace for the rest of Winter, hell, for the rest of our lives if it makes you feel even the slightest bit better. You aren’t weak, babe. I don’t even know if I could have survived what you did. You were tortured. And if this is how winter is going to go, this is how we’re going to survive it. Together.”

The composure she had tried so hard to maintain crumbles like the facade it is, and the gasping breath she takes startles Cato to the point that he has to look down at her.

“It hurts to breathe, Cato. My lungs hurt and my ribs hurt and it hurts to move and it hurts to bend my fingers. It’s like I'm frozen inside and it hurts.” Clove gasps out, burying her face firmly in the center of his chest. “I didn’t think i’d be in this much pain because of some fucking weather.”

Hurt. Pain. Neither words that Clove would ever admit to, not to anyone else in the world. To anyone but Cato, they made her a target, they made her vulnerable, and they made her weak. 

“I know, Clove. I know.” He admits, bringing his hand back down to her side, warming her up from the inside of her shirts. “I wish I could take it for you.”

I wish I could take it for you. 

What a gesture that is, in District Two, where pain makes you weak and vulnerable. To be willing to carry that burden, to take on that proverbial target. Only among District Two, would the admission of pain and the subsequent willingness to take it be such a marker of love. 

“I just feel like someone could take me out so easily and i’m so useless right now and-” 

“Noone’s coming after us. Noone’s going to take us out. And if they were, I think I’ve got it covered. I’m a Victor, too, you know.” Cato promises, bringing his lips down to kiss the top of her head, where she is nearly trying to burrow into his skin for the warmth he so readily provides. “I’ve got us, Clove. Pretend it’s my turn to keep watch in the games, okay? Sleep…relax..I’ve got us.”

“Am I gonna get a turn?” Clove nearly teases, and he can feel her lips quirking into a smile against his skin. 

He snorts, and somehow manages to pull her closer. “Once a snowman isn’t your biggest opponent, sure.” 

The pinch he feels on his side is enough for him to know that she was going to be just fine. 

#clato #cato and clove #arwbfb au #arwbfb tag #always remember we're burned for better tag #clato fanfic #the hunger games fanfic #clato fanfiction #clato tag #clove tag #cato tag #cashmere and enobaria #cashbaria tag #arwbfb sequel #pfsk tag #picket fences sharp as knives tag

[wolfiemcwolferson]

I continue to clean out my fic list and feed you all plots to fics I will never write.

Maxiel/Top Chef AU

Danny owns a BBQ restaurant and he’s a TikTok star but he’s classically trained and everyone on the production team thinks he’ll be the dark horse of the season.

Max has zero formal training. He always knew he was going to work in food so he moves to New York illegally at 17 and he washes dishes until he gets a chance and a work visa and now he’s a sous chef. The producers don’t know if he’ll be a nightmare or their best cast. He’s funny and real and he’s got a mouth on him.

Max…is not doing well in the beginning. He thinks some of the challenges are “very stupid” and he tells Tom at judge’s table that maybe his palate is bad and no one in the house likes him so the first two team challenge’s end up with him on the bottom - not because of his food, but because no one is working together.

And then he gets paired with Danny.

Danny makes a dumb joke to the girl he’s been flirting with this whole time about getting paired with Max and Max hears it and then that night in the house while they’re making the menu, Max just says no to everything Danny says. No, we can’t do your food. No, we can’t serve it in bowls. No, we can’t. No, we can’t. And Danny is like…hm, okay. Tell me how you would do it?

And Max does and Danny is like…um, yes? It’s fucking mad but it’s genius if we can pull it off and then Max just….smiles. He smiles and Danny is F U C K E D.

Max and Danny win and Danny hugs Max and the two of them sneak out to the same place they were menu planning and Max thanks Danny. Like, no one here likes me and it’s because I have to win and he spills this whole business with his dad kicking him out because he’s gay and how he slept in someone’s closet for two years and Danny hugs him again and tells Max he thinks he could definitely win.

Everyone expects Danny to…leave Max alone after that but the two of them now live in each other’s pockets and Daniel is defending max now??? And in a group challenge their group is in the bottom and Danny thinks Max is going to go home because their other two team members are trying to say it was Max’s fault and Danny defends him with a smile on his face and a joke but he’s brutal and that’s when people realize that Danny’s allegiance is to Max and Max alone.

He’s still well liked but everyone gives them a wide berth. Which of course leads the two of them to get closer and it looks like the two of them are going to go all the way.

Until…

Daniel goes home when there are six of them left. He makes a simple mistake. The cook of his fish is over by a couple of seconds and Max kicks a door after Daniel hugs him tight and says, “it’s gotta be you, Maxy.”

Max doesn’t speak to anyone all night and they all talk the next morning before he’s up and they decide that they’ll be gentle with him today. They don’t say it…but they’re pretty sure there was something between the two of them.

Max wins that challenge and when Tom tells him that they’ve seen a lot of growth in him, Max says that it was Daniel. That Daniel made him better and Tom looks so shocked that Padma has to remind everyone they’re judging.

Max makes it to the finale and they don’t get to pick their team but production doesn’t have a choice, they give Daniel to Max and when he walks into the kitchen, Max barely keeps his tears in.

Max says with finality, “we will win” and Daniel says “you will win” and Max looks at him sideways and says very slowly “I will win.”

And he does, of course. He has a breakdown because his second course has a problem but Danny saves it and Max only has the owner of the restaurant he works out there for support but after they say his name, he’s only looking at Danny.

“This is Daniel,” Max says as he introduces him to Christian. “He is my boyfriend.”

And they’re still filming and Danny knows it’s going to make the episode because how could it not, so he slips his hand around Max’s waist and holds his hand out for Christian to shake and says, “I hate to take him from you, but it sounds like we’ve got to open up a restaurant for Maxy here.” And then he kisses his temple and Max blushes and Tom stands there like 🧍

Danny is still a TikTok star, but he gets his own travel show.

Max occasionally pops into his TikToks and the show but mostly he spends time opening up restaurants and running them and they’re happy and Max cooks and he has Danny and Danny eventually does an all-stars season and he wins and Max is interviewed while they’re cooking and he says “of course he will win, we have been training for this for months. He is very sick of me but that is okay. I have agreed to marry him if he wins so I would think he would be more motivated than anyone else.”

They get married and Tom officiates and Max complains because Danny wouldn’t let him cook the food and they’re happy forever and ever.

#Maxiel #never fic #top chef au #I wish I had time to write this but I hope you enjoy this

[milimeters-morales]

something that i think about non-black people interact with media like this when it’s two black people compared is like Miles is def more. idk palatable??? to non-black people because people agree he’s overall very kind and energetic, has both parents that can afford to be with him through life, is in a great school, isn’t in need of anything food/clothing/shelter wise, doesn’t speak a lot of Spanish onscreen. But Miles G, and i’m pulling this out of my ass kinda, they start relating less and less, and become more cruel, they can’t relate to being a black boy raised just by his momma, they can’t relate to the struggle and fight that comes with being financially unstable, in a part of the neighborhood with more black people so it isn’t seen as that important <- (the part i’m just personally believing until the movie comes out), and the personality/attitude you gain from living like that. You probably wouldn’t be bubbly or too out there like Miles (1610) is, you’d def be more rough around the edges and ready to do things you normally wouldn’t just to survive (Miles G and Aaron stealing from heavily guarded and dangerous places). And that the “fatherless” jokes about Miles G that will come of this are going to be weird for me to hear, because yes he is fatherless (i personally never got that joke lol) but not in a way they could ever relate to as non-black people. same with him automatically being seen as aggressive and just horrible to people, it is easier to relate to him and see the line between what he acts like than who is really is when you’re black compared to someone who isn’t black because you don’t equate it with being inherently unpleasant unless you’re joking around, typically with other black people. and i think people do it subconsciously having this prejudice or do it without that and just don’t notice the harmful/ignorant looking parts of what they’re doing because it’s like an echo chamber in there and tom of miscommunication , like oh we’re all in on the joke! oh wait, they genuinely think like this?

#update: #i just realized i already made this post ages ago about my hatred of people who were making x readers (mostly porn) of him #not tagging #bc like bro i just woke up but i was dreaming about this #so like. sorry for grammar being shit if it is

[an-architect-of-words]

I WISH BORIS HAD BEEN THE ANTAGONIST OF THE GOLDFINCH

Okay Boris Pavlikovsky take based on people requesting it from this post where I said I’m like 90% sure my take on him is 🔥, meaning I could tell immediately he’d be popular as hell and yet he’s the subject of my biggest critique of the novel.

The short:

I’m extremely mixed on Boris and was for most of the book, especially at the end. His usage within the story just was an odd roller coaster. Now, I think I’d summarize it this way— I wish Boris had just been treated as an incredibly nuanced antagonist. I get that Donna Tartt books don’t fully deal in hero-villain terms but let me explain!! He would have been very heartbreaking, compelling, and unique as an actual antagonist.

The long:

I want to like Boris a lot because of his positive qualities. His dialogue is so charmingly good (I was so impressed by Tartt’s writing of someone who is speaking a second/third language and may write a whole post on that). Boris is also characterized by gratitude and loyalty to the people who’ve done right by him such as Theo, the folks from his backstory such as Judy and the Muslim preachers, and his guys— Cherry, Shirley, Gyuri. He recognizes kindness and responds to it in a way that is just so likable. He even cries when he thinks of his betrayal of Theo and says that he can’t stand what he did, knowing that Theo was only ever generous and good to him. Finally, Boris was a good foil to Theo, optimism vs dread. Boris’s optimism and love did save Theo at points, and it provides a very believable basis for their friendship.

But my problem is that Boris’s flaws were a little TOO big to have been so under-commented on. His vices crossed from palatable things to things that you really can’t take lightly, at least as lightly as I think this story did at the end. To summarize some things: 1) Boris beat his girlfriend (and casually assumed Theo had beaten Pippa) and is of the opinion that this is sad but necessary since sometimes “women deserve it.” 2) He is a serial cheater who rarely visits his wife and his own babies but has a girlfriend in Antwerp and is implied to buy escorts/prostitutes fairly regularly, which is further unconscionable since the reason he hurt Kotku was that she was potentially cheating on him! 3) Boris has ruined and ended countless lives. Anyone who runs a cartel has. But he was also introducing the kids at his school to drugs since they were too nervous to deal with adults. And maybe it’s because I know someone who died by a heroin overdose, but I just saw Boris as a indirect murderer throughout the book. He is against direct, cold-blooded murder, sure. But there comes a point where you have to take the domino-effect implications of your own actions seriously. It’s not even just the cartel. It’s minor things that show he doesn’t care about indirectly ending lives. He lost his license from drunk driving, then gave Gyuri cocaine WHILE GYURI WAS DRIVING. So, well, blatant lack of concern towards the lives of everyone else on the road. 4) while he did help Theo in ways, he really ruined him in other ways. The drugs and alcohol. But also getting him accustomed to thievery and sexual activity at a young age (I was pretty disturbed by Boris’s attraction to certain women because they were over the legal age and his way of romanticizing these relationships to Theo. I get this isn’t exactly uncommon talk among teen boys, at a level. But it reached icky too-far points in context. Then we see Theo get in this kind of relationship later, with Julie).

To summarize this: I was thinking that Boris shows that a person can be a good friend without being good for his friend. If that makes sense?

Boris loved Theo, saved his life, spent years planning how to make things up to him— but he was also emblematic of a very bad era of Theo’s. Now, I can love deeply flawed characters. Heck, I loved everyone in The Secret History. But the thing is, I think characters who reach this level of flawed are only fully likable when I can approach them knowing they were indeed wholly lambasted by the text itself. It’s a comfortable place from which to feel empathy.

For Boris… that didn’t come through well to me. It started to at points, for sure. Theo definitely comments on Boris’s flaws. And I think there’s a really dirty sort of filter on the events of the story where Boris is concerned. But to be honest, it wasn’t enough for what this guy was doing. I was most disappointed when Theo started to really get at him in the hotel room, only for the scene to shift into a moment that lifts Boris up. I liked the idea of Theo breaking away from the attitude of his father and of Boris. But then *bam* Goldfinch. Now Boris is all right again. The problem is— while making good from the bad is a great lesson and I agree that even our low points have meaning in a divine scheme— that doesn’t mean our bad actions were good, actually. It’s just that goodness was able to work with what we did. But our wrongs are wrong. Boris returning the painting shows some redemption and that Theo’s woes and miserable life story did have meaning. But Boris’s cheating, drug dealing, thievery, and violence are still evil mistakes. Not good because they worked out.

This return-of-The-Goldfinch moment is further muddied by the fact that Boris had something to gain financially by returning the finch. Now he’s loaded with cash, and that was a motivating factor in the return. I guess the lesson is that good pays and in a much better way than evil. And Boris did learn this. He was so fixated on how to get what he wanted sneakily, by beating the system, that he didn’t consider that he could come out on top by doing good. The lesson may be that good is not without opportunity itself. Still, the moment does swerve from fully critiquing Boris’s wrongs, and he’s never really treated fairly for them in my opinion.

So back to my point. I wish Boris had been just treated as the antagonist of this novel. I think that this would have been an awesome direction and could have happened while keeping his personality in-tact. All the pieces were there but the trigger never pulled.

An antagonist is merely someone stopping a protagonist from getting what he wants or what is good for him. An antagonist doesn’t have to be fully villain-y. It can be a rival sports team, for example. I think Boris would have made a great, very nuanced antagonist with sympathetic intentions. It would have been fun to see him fight so hard for Theo’s good that he doesn’t see that he’s preventing Theo’s redemption. Again, a lot of this IS already in the text, but I wish it all had followed through. I wish that Boris as an antagonist who only wants what’s best for the protagonist was his eventual and clearly stated characterization. It would have been compelling, to me, if the end had been Theo against Boris on the grounds that they both are so certain what’s best for Theo’s life. Boris would not want to be in this position, but is sure he has to be. Honestly?! HE HAS STRONG REASONS FOR THINKING THIS. He watched Theo try to kill himself many times. Imagine how traumatizing that would be, how much you wouldn’t trust your friend because you’re so afraid of losing him.

For a bit, I thought the reason Boris didn’t want to return the Goldfinch had to do with him viewing it as the thing that would fix Theo and mend their relationship. I thought maybe his connection to the thing was that he considered it a panacea like, if it were back in Theo’s hands, they could return to boyhood. I thought maybe he didn’t want to let go of the painting because it represented his own redemption and a happier side of Theo; he’s convinced that if it’s given to the authorities, he’s lost the fight and Theo won’t ever find happiness again. I think the in-book reason for Boris not wanting to return the painting was literally just fear of the cops. But it would have been interesting if he just didn’t have faith that Theo would be okay if it was released.

The end even covers the idea that our hearts are not always something to be trusted. Sometimes the things that you do out of love aren’t good. I do believe Boris got Theo on drugs partially because of love (but also wanting company in his own lifestyle). He didn’t want to see Theo suffering; he felt upset when Theo was sick or in pain. So his answer was to give him ecstasy or vodka or weed or coke so that his friend would relax and smile again. But obviously this isn’t right. It’s very wrong. And is it just me or did the book treat this as an oddly benevolent act? (In fact, it also just seems “generous” when Boris said he was just giving drugs away at school because he liked being liked— but that’s FURTHER basis for a sort of well-meaning antagonist. He’s generous but in awful ways at times. I wish this were commented on as such, as evil born from a good yet disordered heart, rather than just “Boris is generous.”)

I also thought for sure that Boris would have a come-to-Jesus moment where he’s like “maybe this is all wrong,” only for him to be advised against this feeling by Myriam who has a plan for how he can get what he wants for himself and Theo, quick and dirty. Was I the only one who felt Myriam seemed efficient in a Devil-like way? The text really puts demon/snake symbolism on her, and Boris trusts her so much and this isn’t expanded upon. It should have been used!

Bottom line is that some things done in this book are serious. Really serious, not character quirks and they felt a little too casually handled when it came to Boris. The book does seem to go “yes he’s a mess” here and there. But not in a way that rises to the proper level, in my opinion. I do get that he shows there’s good to be found in bad people, and that fate can use broken human beings! But I kind of wish I wasn’t left with a feeling of the book going, “lol Boris, that beautiful scoundrel” when the man in question was a woman-beating, cheating, drug lord.

Like I said, I’m mixed. But I think I’d have loved him if he was just, up front, the affectionate antagonist of the whole novel. I think he would have made a great overarchingly dark figure, whose motivations stem from how close he’s come to losing Theo. That would have better married his positive qualities with his negative ones. It would have combined what we know of him as a selfish, often violent figure with his good intentions. I just want him to be depicted for what he is and let his vices lead up to an actual boiling point— while letting him keep his kind aspects too.

#though I get Boris wasn’t responsible for EVERYTHING #also theo has his own responsibilities to take #still the story was too kind to Borya #I want to write a fanfic where he’s actually like this #donna tartt #boris pavlikovsky #the goldfinch

[thomine]

This is my five billionth time trying to come up with something, so let’s go. Thank you! <3

I’d consider myself an ambivert that primarily prefers being alone to indulge myself in my hobbies, but also hates being lonely. While I wouldn’t consider myself sociable, I’m a friendly person. I can easily chat with most people. I love learning about people and hearing what they like to talk about. But my natural inclination is to cling to my alone time.

I am a very analytical person at heart. I like studying things to know why and how they work. This applies very much so to people. Because of this, I tend to be known as a smart person. At work, I am fast and accurate. I understand how my duties and others work in the big picture. I’m quick to notice when things are wrong and can point out where the error lies. I have a reputation for being a quick and reliable helper.

I’m generally known as a logical person. While I do have a temperament, I’m not seen as emotional. I make decisions with a level head. I’m not weak either. I love debates and arguments. I enjoy raising my voice. I do not hesitate to stand my ground if need be. If I get mad at someone, it’s typically because they’re contradicting themselves or saying something that makes no sense.

That being said, I’m lacking in many ways too. I’ve been told many times that I am a mean person. Apparently my way of speaking makes some feel like they’re being humiliated or mocked. I lack sympathy. I’m too outspoken. I serve primarily my own motives, not others. I’m stubborn, a know-it-all, selfish, etc etc etc.

My biggest insecurity is being misunderstood. I have a hard time verbalizing my feelings/opinions and conveying my intent which has gotten me in a lot of trouble in the past. That being said, what bothers me isn’t being seen as a good and kind person, but simply as being perceived inaccurately. I want to be understood as I am without changing myself to be more palatable to others. I may be selfish and unsympathetic, but I’m more than that.

So who would you pair me with? 👀 @paimonial-rage

this is a gift.

if you would like one of your own, please read my post here that lists what i'm willing to do and what to expect for a non-gift.

i wanted to pair you up with zhongli, ngl. but anyways, picture this:

you're in a debate with someone, temper agitated and argument points hot enough to dissolve your opponent's ego in the akademiya building. such a sight is common in the school, so you don't bother with the stares and looks knowing they'll treat you like background noise eventually. you raise your voice, disturbing those in the vicinity, but your adversary is literally covering their ears to combat your logical brilliance. it isn't long till they declare a stalemate. when you and your opposer part ways, you want to go home quickly but someone taps you on your shoulder...

it's tighnari. maybe you briefly recognize him considering his reputation in the academia and among the forest watchers. maybe you don't, but that doesn't bother him. reputation is just the backdrop of a person, not the person itself.

although... tighnari has heard of you. as you said, you're known as an analytical person, someone smart. he has a penchant for such people, and bonus if they can speak their minds. you're efficient, quick, reliable, which is everything tighnari wished he had in his colleagues. in some sense, perhaps he already has a small admiration for what he heard about you, but he's wary to place labels on these feelings. he doesn't know if you have a favorite color. he doesn't know if you like mushrooms. small steps, it's what he believes in, so when he sees the chance to approach you, he takes it without hesitation.

your debate intrigues him, and he has a few questions. he doesn’t mind talking to you there and then, but he has something to rush for in a few minutes. exchanging addresses to mail each other letters is the ideal thing to do.

you're not a sociable person, but that's not an issue for him. he's alright with initiating. anyways, he approached you, didn't he? after you exchange details, don't be surprised if you receive a letter here and there. at first, it's to expand on your argument, but casual topics are gradually discussed. and conversation, i believe, will flow smoothly with how you're open to hearing him ramble about his interest in plants and the ecosystems of the forest. it will be comfortable, and exciting in some ways, to have him write to you about the contraptions they use at the forest. from traps to capture berserk animals to their machinery of conveniences.

perhaps at some point in your brewing relationship, he invites you to the forest ranger's headquarters. tighnari's hands are shakier than expected, temperament more fragile than ice in the summer. he warns his colleagues with an infamous streak of trouble to not do anything silly, but of course something has to happen. a forest ranger carelessly discarded a trap they used in an old mission, causing the injuries of a wandering adventurer.

he's livid, marching silently towards the crime scene. he insisted that you stay at headquarters and wait for him, but somehow you find yourself tagging along. the guilty forest ranger is doing his best to deal with his mistakes, but his lack of knowledge on medicine makes it worse, causing tighnari's rage to grow.

it's not long till he raises his voice, eyes aimed at one person, tongue reprimanding left, right, front, center. the forest ranger shivers as if stripped naked in winter, and tighnari quickly deals with the adventurer's injuries.

he doesn't bring it up on the walk back or when he accompanies you out of the forest after a long day of planned (and unplanned) activities. instead, it's you. it's a levelheaded conversation, of tighnari's reaction, of the forest ranger's reactions, and ends with practical suggestions on how such situations can be minimized. he had people talk with him about his temper. they always say he acts out of line, but you don't, at least, not without understanding his point of view. you can see why he would be angry.

something clicks in him, and such a situation makes him crave your essence more.

hanging out with tighnari isn't tiring. he is a busy man so time is precious to him. he will plan and arrange days to do certain activities he thinks you might be keen on, but he'll also arrange times to do as each wishes, understanding the need to invest and indulge in one's passions. he doesn't need quick responses from his letters, and neither do you. it seems like he's an uptight person with all the planning, but he's actually extremely flexible, as required in the nature of his job.

of course, not everything is sunshine and rainbows. there are times your harsh and straightforward ways of speech has irked tighnari in his times of stress. he does not appreciate having your words slice through his already thinning patience, and arguments can erupt. it doesn't help that both of you are stubborn. but, he does not fault you for the way you speak or the sides you take. in fact, when others call you selfish, he calls you reasonable. the first rule he learned in biology is that fools don't look after their own needs, and this also applies to humans.

eventually, after having thought through thoroughly of each person's position, logic will prevail. consensus and compromises formed, and arguments quelled.

you say your biggest insecurity is being misunderstood. tighnari is not one to quickly place judgement on people. since the very beginning, he is aware that what he hears of someone is not everything. as researcher of plants and organisms, he knows how assumptions suffocate the growth of a plant. one needs to pause, to observe, to notice, which is exactly what he is. he relies on his senses and experience and less on prediction and universal rules. he is someone in tune with his surroundings; always open to be proved wrong. as a researcher, isn't it exciting when you're faced with the truth that you don't know everything? there is no worry of making yourself palatable for him. he appreciates you as you are, and will do the best within his knowledge and means to make sure he understands you as you.

i hope you liked my analysis.... i'm sorry if it's not a structured as what you did for me, or as interesting or accurate (idk??). i found it pretty hard to write without incorporating some sort of scenario or story so i hope that's alright!

#genshin impact x you #genshin reader insert #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #ok but abt pairing you with z.hongli it was a joke and then i realized it's ACTUALLY ok. like not too bad of a pair #and at some point i wanted to go with a.lbedo but then at some point i figured this character was a better choice #i have some notes but like i dont know how to explain them at all #ALSO so sorry for the wait. i called myself slo for a reason.... sloth... and slow...... both are me..... orz #this was sent in like the start of the year. this took more than a month omg HAHAH #u know i did joke abt u and a.lhaitham being a good pair but after writing this #i don't think it's bc you make a good pair with a.lhaitham. i think you fit much better with this character #but. but. but. you are literally one of the few selected person i can see a.lhaitham possibly being interested in #and among the smallll list of characters i can see a.lhaitham with you'll be one of the top choices

[pencil-amateur]

here’s some lore on my killer klown ocs :•)

varmint is weirdly enamored with select human music and culture, which explains her (albeit clownishly exaggerated) cowboy getup. she had the luck to find a radio tuned to frequencies humans broadcast on, and things spiraled from there. she holds the proud (self-proclaimed) distinction of being the biggest interplanetary primus fan.

she considers humans to be intelligent, though not as much as klowns, and slightly ugly but interesting animals. she’s not above eating them, but if she gets attached to one, chances are good she’ll spare them. (les claypool is off-limits for the cotton candy gun!) however, as with most others of her planet, she has a very skewed, inhuman sense of morality. she is quite trigger-happy, and thinks potentially lethal gags are hilarious- though she’s more likely to incorporate some neat rodeo tricks. colorful handkerchief lasso, anyone?

varmint is very cheerful and energetic, to a point where she even tends to bug other klowns. because of this, she and a few other “misfits” were unceremoniously shoved together on a ship and sent off to collect more food. or die, possibly. luckily, this meant she got to meet sniffles! despite their very different personalities, they mesh very well. varmint is good at being there for sniffles when it’s in a bad mood, and sniffles loves to listen to varmint talk about whatever weird human thing she’s just discovered.

sniffles would say it doesn’t care much at all about human stuff- and while it’s true it doesn’t understand a lot of human behavior, earth’s food and food preparation in general is very intriguing to it. when you’ve been living on a diet of liquefied meat, sugar, and basically nothing else, broadening one’s palate is mind-boggling! though it’s also not against eating people, cooking is easier when you have someone who knows what they’re doing around. bit of a pain, but ultimately necessary.

klowns can quickly understand other languages, even alien ones, at a basic level. they have trouble speaking them, though, as their own language system is rather garbled to other creatures. they rely on vocal imitation to communicate if needed, though most don’t see the point in it. usually, imitation is used to lure or taunt prey, but sniffles is one of the rare few who has gone beyond. in its earlier attempts, it had a limited range of voices to copy, meaning it often sounded exactly like the person it was talking with. the humans, it noticed, found this unnerving.

sniffles, true to its name, is a sad klown. this isn’t just a mood, it’s a way of life. it’s uncommon among the colorful slapstick circus of klowns, and sad klowns tend to stick together. as we’ve seen, however, sniffles is pretty unusual. though it’s gloomy and introspective, as is usual for its subtype, it prefers the company of other oddballs when it’s done brooding on its own. (word to the wise: a sad klown is NOT a mime. do not ever call sniffles that if you value your life.)

#killer klowns from outer space #clowns #horror #my art #ocs #varmint #sniffles

[kalinara]

I feel like Reva’s redemption in Obi-Wan Kenobi, already great in its own right, really shone a light on why Kylo Ren’s redemption in the Sequel Trilogy didn’t work for me.

Now granted, it was always going to be an uphill battle for me to find a Kylo Redemption narratively satisfying.  I’ve made no secret about the fact that I didn’t really think a redemption was feasible after the events of the first and second movie.  

But I’m not an immovable object.  I’ve seen good writers pull off plot twists that on paper I’d never have liked.  And sometimes, even a redemption arc can work for me.  

But let’s be honest here.  Kylo Ren did not have a redemption arc in Rise of Skywalker.  He was perfectly happy to keep terrorizing Rey with the force up to and until his super-magical mommy died for him.  And...no.  Sorry.  That really doesn’t work.

Redemption, narratively speaking, doesn’t need to be complicated.  Especially in Star Wars.  It generally happens in one moment of choice: Darth Vader saving his son, Din Djarin going back for Grogu, and especially, Reva deciding not to kill Luke Skywalker.

Reva isn’t more redeemable than Kylo Ren because her backstory is more sympathetic (even though it is),  She’s more redeemable because she made a choice.

Kylo Ren had many many opportunities for choices, and for the most part, he chose the most evil option each time.  He didn’t have to murder Lor San Tekka, but he did.  He didn’t have to kill Han Solo, but he did.  He didn’t have to torture Poe or Rey, maim Finn, defend the Starkiller, order the massacre on Jakku and so forth, but he did.  He didn’t have to hunt the Resistance to Crayt and try to massacre them to a man.  But he did.  And so on and so forth.

I think there was one time he chose not to shoot at his mom while she was floating in space.  Which, okay, maybe a fraction of a point for that.  But he doubled down afterward, so no.

The thing was though, no one made the choice FOR Reva.  Obi-Wan didn’t do some magical mumbo jumbo.  Luke didn’t talk her down.  Owen and Beru didn’t have her at gunpoint.  She just stopped.  It was a decision anyone could make at that moment, and she made it.  She stopped.

Kylo’s redemption didn’t work for me because it’s built into the privilege he’s had all along.  There was a constant assumption both within the movie (From Lor San Tekka, from Han Solo, from Rey - trying to repeat Luke’s triumph) and from fans that Kylo would follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.  Of COURSE, Kylo will redeem himself, it’s Star Wars.

It’s a guarantee because Kylo Ren is space royalty, because of Anakin.  Redemption is treated like an inheritance.  And in the end, Kylo gets his inheritance, not through his own choice, but through Leia’s actions.  And well, not every villain has a super powered mommy magically push them into being a better person.  

Reva’s not space royalty.  She’s just a woman who had been a traumatized child, who survived through holding onto her fear, rage, and hatred.  And then, as she stares down at an innocent person, having finally found the one way she could make her enemy suffer...she stops.  She looks at who she’s become and she decides to become someone else instead.  It’s much more satisfying.

There are folks who say the best kind of redemption arcs are the ones where you can follow the person afterward and watch them become a better person.  I think that’s true...sometimes.  I have no interest in Prince Kylo magnanimously sharing the bounty of his mother’s sacrifice.  (And thankfully, I don’t have to.  His redemption, and grateful reward, are much more palatable since he dies.)

Reva though?  I’d happily watch Reva do whatever she wants to do next.  Maybe she and Haja can team up and smuggle people out of Imperial hands.  Maybe she’ll pull a Mara Jade, and go out on her own...learn about who she is outside of Imperial control.  (I still think that’d be the best way to bring Mara into the Disney franchise.)  The possibilities are endless.

#Reva Sevander #reva #redeemed knight errant #obi wan kenobi spoilers #anti kylo ren #poor little serial killer

[tarisilmarwen]

Rebels Rewatch: “Fighter Flight”

We went out shopping and wound up stealing a military aircraft, only on Rebels people, only on Rebels.

This is one of my favorite episodes to rewatch, it’s just so FUN.

A very pretty shot of Lothal, pre-burninating, and a short mellow excerpt of the Main Titles theme to open us up.

Behind the scenes it seems that Kanan has been teaching Ezra something, because he’s poised over this bowl like he’s ready and raring to practice something he learned.

You know I gotta talk about it, it’s the flirting scene!

Look at this dork trying to be all suave and charming. ^_^

It doesn’t work because of course Ezra is fourteen and a dumbass just how I like ‘em but I like that Sabine never really seems overly bothered by his attempts, mildly irritated at worst, and even then she never gives him a hard no and she’s plenty capable, she certainly doesn’t let niceties get in the way of her speaking her mind on other things.

(See: How she was almost outright rude to Kanan and Hera about the whole Fulcrum thing.)

Subtle animation appreciation moment: Ezra briefly losing his place leaned against the doorframe and having to quickly readjust.  Adorkable.

Zeb, you’re already awake, there’s no point to threatening Ezra here.

Smug little bastard I love him so much.

I really do like that they explore the inevitable friction that was going to occur when you house a snarky teenager with a cranky grown adult.  It builds naturally off the previous episode.

Plus I just love Zeb and Ezra’s dynamic and love seeing them grow to respect and care about each other, sue me.

This is nitpicky but... sometimes the paths the characters take through this ship make no damn sense.

Like right here, Ezra comes out of the nose gun pod... which can only be accessed via the cockpit ladder that he immediately runs to.  We can hypothesize that maybe he made a detour via the vents, as in the pilot, but... Zeb comes that path too.  And he definitely doesn’t fit in the Ghost’s ventilation system.

Granted I notice this because I obsessively charted out the Ghost’s layout but still, it bugs me.

Zeb coming in with a flying leap to tackle Ezra will never not be hilarious.

The Found Family dynamics are in full swing this episode; Hera lording over as Team Mom, Zeb and Ezra acting like squabbling siblings, pretty sure this is the first time someone refers to the other three as “the kids”, Kanan and Hera being absolutely low-key married...

The bouncy, elastic character movement is also very prominent here.  Like I said, the show loses this as it goes on, but it lends itself perfectly to the comedy of this episode.

Please appreciate Ezra swiping at Zeb like a feral cat with me.

Subtle animation appreciation moment: The animators take time out to have Ezra scratching up into his hair as he turns from Sumar.  I love little tiny character details like this, it just makes things feel so natural and organic.

Imperial March snatches coming on the clarinet here.

Again with the small character moments, Ezra crouching and readying his slingshot.

Rebels said Eminent Domain is the arm of state tyranny, pass it on.

Friiiiiiick the height difference between Ezra and Zeb is getting to me, he is so freaking tiny!

No wonder everyone he meets feels the immediate need to adopt and protect him.

Serious question: What exactly does the Empire want or need with a crate of meilooruns?  They hardly seem the type to care that much about the nutritional needs of their troops.

Like as not it’s for the plate of an officer with an expensive palate.

Ezra already responding much better to Zeb’s shoulder punches.

I would like to just reiterate: I love Zeb and Ezra’s friendship, it is adorable, they play so nicely off each other and I’m glad they got this bonding episode in early Season One.

The bouncy woodwind that’s been picking away in the background here transitions seamlessly into the Force theme prelude, hgn I LOVE it when the score adds to plot beats.

I could be wrong, but this sounds vaguely like a cue from ANH when the Stormtroopers were chasing Han and Chewie.

Ezra being so smol that Zeb can literally chuck him up to a rooftop. *cries*

Baron Valen Rudor was featured in Ezra’s introductory short (Zeb’s too I think?), it’s kind of a running gag how the Rebels show up to ruin this guy’s day in particular.  And it is hilarious.

Please appreciate Zeb’s maniacal cackle as he blasts troopers away with the TIE fighter with me.

Oh wow, I never noticed the subtle Force ring sound effect right here with Ezra leaping to the other roof.  Nice touch.

I hear some notes from the Return of the Jedi soundtrack here, specifically when the Rebel Alliance is making its attack on the Death Star.  I think that may be one of the leitmotifs associated with the Rebel Alliance specifically?

I really want to know the story behind Ezra’s, “You don’t know how.  Let me!” here.

A lot of this really seems to suggest that Ezra’s flown ships before.

Force ring sound effect coming in as Ezra senses the approaching rock formation and once again, I love this show’s animation.  I think I have a gifset of this moment specifically under my #your clone wars could never tag.

(Explanation: That tag is mostly for appreciating early Season One Rebels animation, which is on the level of TCW’s Season Three at least.)

I may be a Sabezra whore at heart, but I do love how casually domestic Kanan and Hera are right here.

This is one of the funniest exchanges on the show. XD

Subtle animation appreciation moment: Zeb’s ear flickers and the awkward way Ezra scratches his face.

Ezra’s “I think I know where it [the smoke] is coming from.” makes me think he’s visited the Sumar’s farm at least once or twice and knows its general location.

IIRC a large part of this episode’s inspiration was the toy or concept of this specific transport right here.  Fun trivia fact.

I don’t think anyone anticipated Lyste becoming more prominent a player lol.

Like an OC you get inexplicably fond of.

Oh hey!  Ezra’s theme is piping in here!

Oh frick is that a Dies Irae reference?

(For context, the Dies Irae is basically an ooooooooold classical music meme, usually used to musically portent death, doom, or gloom.  Star Wars tends to use the Dies Irae liberally.  Rogue One in particular had heavy Dies Irae references in several of its tracks.)

This music cue, on the other hand?  Unique to Rebels.  Kind of fun, but then I’m a soundtrack nerd and enjoy this kind of thing.

Zeb continuing in the classic Star Wars tradition of, “We’re fine, we’re all fine here... now... How are you?” failed bluffing lololol.

I know I’ve mentioned my appreciation for the hair animation but... seriously.

It’s so soft-looking.

A stuttered, half-formed variation of the Force Theme here, which only plays a few notes in the sequence, just the suggestion of the leitmotif really.

Luke’s Theme, on the other hand, though in mellow horns, allowed to play more fully, though interrupted on the very end by a sharp discordant note as the Stormtroopers come up top.

This is what we call ~*musical storytelling*~.

Snrk, one Trooper downed by fruit, the other by friendly fire.  Love the whimsical little sting as Ezra’s pelting them with meilooruns.

“You did all this... for FRUIT?!”

Still one of the funniest lines in the series.

Oh wow I just noticed the nice scuffed texture on Ezra’s backpack.

Ezra’s jaunty little salute character tic, which Kanan picks up. <33333

Props to Zeb’s prehensile feet, love whenever the writers use them.

I wanna know when and how Zeb learned about Ezra’s helmet collecting hobby, did Ezra try to cram his stash on the shelves as soon as he moved in?  Lol.

Awwww and Ezra’s already getting comfortable with arm bumps, love to see it.

*bangs “Rebels animation was gorgeous from the start, ya’ll just hatin’” drum*

I think I can hear some of the cue from the “Property of Ezra Bridger” short.  Pretty sure it’s used as a kind of “Rebel shenanigans” leitmotif throughout the series.

Prime “aww” moment here as Zeb and Ezra wrestle, love love love the boys being affectionate, underrated friendship, gimme more.

Lol, Ezra sounds more confused than offended by Sabine’s painting.

And a slightly more upbeat rendition of Ezra’s theme to close us out.

I love this episode it’s got Zeb and Ezra friendship bonding, Kanan/Hera being adorably married, it becomes delightfully relevant to the finale, and it’s hilarious, I don’t really have anything else to say except haters to the left, why don’t you have some fun occasionally?

Tomorrow, the episode that most people said was the hook for them for the show and the start of major Spacedad-Spaceson feels.

#star wars #star wars rebels #liveblog #rebels rewatch #sabezra #ezra bridger #your clone wars could never #music #soundtracks #kanan x hera