#anon inbox

[atomicrebelfire]

It will never not be funny to me that Lou took Buck’s side and Oliver took Tommy’s side in the break up. Lou saying Tommy threw a hissy fit and Oliver saying Buck was a dick made my day😂

HAHA right?! 😂 I’m living for the chaos too. They both recognize their characters were wrong!!! It’s almost like they’re living the breakup themselves from the inside, and it’s hilarious—while we fans are over here trying to take sides and assign blames.

[ficmeouttahere]

ur crack fic idea reminded me of an idea i had where a thankful patient drops off brownies for the doctors but it’s a classic “whoops i dropped off the pot brownies instead of the regular brownies” but a few people already ate some. reader is one of them and has to get parked in a room with the others, or has some kind of bad reaction to it and is panicking to robby like omg i’m so fucking high i think i’m gonna die and he’s trying not to laugh

yass pot brownies what a CLASSIC god knows the man needs a genuine laugh

heres the deal u write yours i write mine

[forever--darling]

request: and for anakin I love the idea of how he comforts his girl. hugs, nicknames, cuddling together.

summary: being in the midst of a war came with many problems, but you had never accounted for the possibility of your general anakin skywalker being one of them, especially when a specific nurse seems to be all over him

pairings: general!anakin x jedi!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings/notes: swearing, mentions of war, mentions of death, jealous!reader, fluff, mentions of sex, 501st clone trooper battalion, forbidden love

masterlist

It appeared almost out of thin air, like a billowing blow that seemed to almost knock you on your ass. It was worse than the battle you somehow had survived only a few hours before, sure to be stuck in the same predicament again soon. After all, when in an active warzone, it was always the reality, the scenery unable to escape but practically tattooed across your skin. It was means for disaster, of a bleakness that was sure to leave you depressed at night as you lay awake listening to the constant gunfire and screams from men and women meeting their fates. 

That deserves your full attention, your care, and yet something else had appeared. It made you feel guilty, like a horrible person, at the way your heart tightened and ached. How had it come to be? 

This thick grimy green monster that had latched upon your shoulders, interfering with the only mission you had been focused on for months. When you were assigned to the 501st Clone Trooper Battalion, you hadn’t even thought of the possibility, the mere ability to let your guard down, have it risk ruining everything. And yet there you were, in complete inept with your General, with a man you had been pulled towards as if the force was willing it to occur. 

You wished then you could have run, somehow been taken captive, at least to save your heart from falling into the same fate. Captive she was, but not by the Separatist enemies; no, it was so much worse. It jeopardized everything it meant to be a Jedi, a knight, a warrior of the Republic. 

It appeared, and now suddenly, it was all you could feel. Even more so as you found her delicate hands brushing along his bicep, eyes surveying the minimal cuts that littered his perfect skin, mixing within the dirt. Blood dried, but marks that would remain for most likely the rest of his life. As she did her job, you surveyed from the corner of the tent, the large tan tent you had spent a few nights in yourself, staring at the ceiling as a lamp crowded the darkness in the softest of golden light. 

It felt diminished in some way as her eyes, so doe-like, innocent, unwilling to be caught up in a war, stared up at him through her lashes. A blush appeared on her cheeks, the same soft pink that you had so clearly seen even that first day when she had met him. She was smitten with the general, and you had never cared, and yet at that moment, you felt the rage swell in your chest. 

He wasn’t paying attention, not to the way she oggled him or the small smile that appeared every time she noted the muscles of his bicep. He was too busy staring down at the latest casualty report one of the other soldiers had brought to him. It was long, at least five pages, three pages longer than it had been for most of the course of the time you had been here. Names and ranks littering them, sure to fade into the road of forgotten ones, only to be kept alive by the mark they left on wherever they came from. 

Your chest ached then for a moment at the thought, but it only hardened further as you heard the nurse’s soft voice fill the tense air of the tent. “General Skywalker, I was told you experienced some impact that was quite severe along your abdomen. I’m afraid I’ll have to take a look.” 

His blue eyes snapped up to hers, that stone-coldness commonly there met her kind ones, and you hated how your stomach turned involuntarily. You huffed slightly, brows knitting in so much anger. His glare flickered over to you, but only for a second, barely surveying your stiff posture. 

He sighed then, almost of disappointment, before nodding, “Make it quick, will you?” 

“Of course,” she replied, almost too enthusiastic. 

Anakin peered back down at the list of his soldiers, but his face hardened again as the nurse cleared her throat awkwardly. He looked back up at her. 

“I’m going to need you to remove your clothing, sir.” 

He didn’t look at you again, and you felt your arms drop in defeat. You were crazy; you knew that much, but it didn’t stop you from turning on your heels and storming out of the tent. He had asked you there to go over some details of the battle, and yet the five minutes you spent standing there had you feeling so out of place even though you had spent the night there two nights before. He was silently staring down at the reports for the entirety of those few minutes, but you couldn’t care, and you couldn’t stay. Too blindsided by the anger that filled your chest, eliciting your veins on fire from the sudden rush of your blood going straight to your balled fists. 

It was something that could surely wait because you were too afraid.

Afraid if you stayed any longer, you would do something that would have the nurse talking, sure to have the rest of the troop and brigade in a state of knowing. Sure, to go back to the Republic, then you both would be in trouble because, after all, Jedi had responsibilities, a code to follow, and work to do. And attachments weren’t allowed, even in a state of sadness, even in the darkest places where it’s the only form of comfort to have. 

You found the only way to really deal with this sudden feeling that seemed to consume you was to take it out on anything you could. It was why you had gone and trained, your lightsaber stretched out, meeting the clashes of another soldier you commonly fought with. Your blows were more forceful, fueled by the sudden rush of feelings you hadn’t known you could even feel. You hated it, the way it seemed to never fade, never fall to the back of your mind even as hours passed. Instead, only the images of her possibly tracing his bare chest and stomach with her fingers remained. 

It was hours upon hours of training, trying to tire yourself into a state of exhaustion, even with the possibility of having to go off into battle at any moment. You couldn’t care, knowing this had to be gone when that time finally came. Not only for your survival, for the mission but to keep him from ever knowing. 

General Anakin Skywalker, the chosen one, the professed hero of this war, could never know. Never know of the sudden feelings that had befallen you. 

That night, you stood in your own tent, far smaller than the General’s, you were getting ready to sleep. Bathed as well as you could manage, you were bundled in clean robes, ready to succumb to the darkness of sleep; it somehow more comforting than being awake. However, as soon as you were ready to do so, a soldier appeared at your door with a message.

“The General requests your presence.” 

It had taken all day, hours, for Anakin to ask for you, to seem willing to want to talk to you, and that seemed to enrage you all over again. Perhaps, he enjoyed the comforts of the innocent nurse warming his bed rather than you. Perhaps she was some sort of light, untouched by the true grit and devastation of war, having never truly left the camp. She had not met death, had not drained life from someone so carelessly. You, on the other hand, were tainted, left in a wallowing sense of pain that only others could understand who had watched death parade day in and day out. 

Yet he had called for you, as he did most nights, but you didn’t go. 

You couldn’t. 

Something you had never done. Something no one had ever done. When the General requested you, you went, no questions asked, and yet your feet were glued to the ground. 

A half-an-hour later, it seemed he became tired of waiting because he had appeared in your doorway, the tent falling closed enough that not even a sliver of the outside world could see inside. He stood in clean black tunics, grime washed free from his delicate features, but that stern look was still apparent. 

He was so breathtaking, like sin itself. 

“I called for you,” he said, voice breaking the air, sounding demanding. 

You stood, fingers carding through your hair, pulling free a knot, back turned towards him. “Did you?” 

His furrowed look only deepened, somehow confused if the message had gotten to you or if you had chosen to ignore it, “Yes, hours ago.” 

“Hm, it seems I must have forgotten.” 

He could hear the spite in your tone, it unable to be hidden. He became frustrated at that point, “Forgotten?” 

Stepping further into the tent, he approached and you felt his presence seem to wrap around you completely, leaving your heart an aching mess. “You don’t merely forget. When your general fucking requests you, you come. Do you understand me, Y/L/N.” 

You turned then, anger palpitating, sure to burst any second as you thought of just how much you were suffering. Your knitted brows met his glare intact, “I was merely giving you time, sir. Time for you to recover, have your wounds tended to.” 

It seemed your words, paired with the spite in your tone, revealed something to him because suddenly his expression was waning, collapsing in on itself into one of wonder. A single brow raised, lips almost lifting in a smirk. His hard exterior disappeared, the General in him no longer there, but only Anakin himself. The true twenty-one-year-old man he was. 

“Seriously?” he chuckled then, spotting how your chest rose and fell in frustration. 

“What?” you spat.

He seemed to be enjoying it, evident in the way his smile only widened, a look of pure amusement appearing. “I wasn’t sure at first if I was imagining it, but damn it seems I haven’t.” 

He had caught on, you realized then. You were unable to truly hide it, not when the fear filled you of what exactly this could mean. Caring for a man this much who you were sure to never see again one way or another when this war ended. Sighing, you turned away again, unable to face him. 

“You can’t just call me whenever you need a woman to nestle yourself into, Anakin.” 

It seemed your words had pulled all air of the room, the amusement he felt somehow falling away at the way your shoulders slumped into themselves. “Y/N.” 

You couldn’t reply then, too shocked, too afraid to. 

“Baby,” he corrected himself, the name only heard at night under the stars. You hated how it felt paired with the way his hands took hold of your arms, turning you to face him again. 

You couldn’t meet his stare though, instead focusing on his shoes. 

“Look at me.” 

You denied him again. 

“Look. At. Me.” This time, his thumb and forefinger took a hold of your chin raising it so your eyes were forced to meet his, the blueness the only comfort you had found in this life. He chuckled again, “You’re cute when your mad.” 

“This isn’t funny.” You huffed then, willing to push him away but his hands stopped you, taking a firm hold of your wrists. 

“Oh, but it is. You’re so clearly jealous.” 

The word awoke something in you, because you felt your glare appear in a moment of defense. “I am not.” 

“Are you sure about that?” he goaded and you felt your entire resolve crack, it so easy when his hands traced down your sides to your hips. They rested there comfortably.

A side only you got to see of the general somehow convincing enough. 

“Does it always have to be her?” you asked then, letting it all out, “I mean, every time a nurse is requested to check you over after you return from the front, it is always her. Every fucking time, and she isn’t good at hiding it either. She is so fucking obvious with how she looks at you. How she even touches you. It’s…”

“Not anything to be worried about,” he finished then, his hand coming up to cup your cheek softly. 

Your eyes met his and softened them almost immediately. 

“You really think that I would do that to you? To us?” 

“I don’t know what to think, Anakin.”

“Why is that?”

“This is wrong, and you know it. If the Council found out, what would come of you? Of me? It seems like a lot to risk just for sex.” 

“Just sex? Since when have I ever given you that impression?” 

You couldn’t answer, somehow feeling as if the weight of the world would crush you if you did. It was all too much once again. How you felt about him, about this predicament of life that had befallen you.

“You were never and have never been just sex to me. You must know that. The way that I feel is…” 

He trailed off as if trying to find the words, find how to say the exact things he had promised himself never to say, because of the code, of his Master, of fear of what would become of him. Leaning forward, his forehead met yours, and suddenly, you could only squeeze your eyes shut, breathing unevenly. 

“When I go out on the front every fucking day, when I have to leave everything else behind to ensure that I am giving everything to these men, to this mission, to the prophecy, one thing still remains. The only comfort I have in all of this is returning so I can see you. Living for the possibility of hugging you, seeing you, kissing you. When I first convinced you to fall into my bed, it was never just for sex. It was because I felt as if you could save me. Save me from the darkness that looms too close to my heart most days.” 

“Anakin,” you whispered in disbelief, in an ache of how much you truly cared, possibly loved this man. 

“You’re the future, the only future I can focus on day in and day out. So understand when I say you have nothing to worry about. No nurse, no other woman, could take the place of that, okay?” 

You nodded, eyes squeezed shut, trying to will the tears away, so desperately hoping they wouldn’t fall in front of him. You couldn’t let them, evident in the way your hands dug into his shoulders, as if afraid of him walking away. Leaving you as you always thought he would one day. Instead, he held you back just as tightly, his forehead pressed along yours.

You heard him chuckle again, though, remembering why you had been so upset. “I still think you’re cute when you’re jealous.” 

You couldn’t help it, not as your own laugh appeared, the tears falling then as you opened your eyes to meet his kind and loving stare. “She was all over you.” 

“I’ll make a note to ask for another nurse then. Or even better, ask that you are the one to take care of me. That way, you can be the one all over me.” 

You smiled, that ache falling away, somehow being buried back where it came from. Simply cured by the man before you. How inevitably screwed you were one way or another. 

“Now, can your general request you to his tent? Or are you going to deny him of that for the second time today?”

What were you ever to do? Compassion is one thing Jedi acted upon, something so completely unable to be avoided, and Anakin Skywalker had practically laid himself out to you. There was no way not to fall inexplicably for a man. No possibility or other life where you couldn’t have loved him. Especially when you didn’t know if you would be alive tomorrow.

[number-2-hero-hawks]

Have you ever dyed your wings?

No way!

I'm staying natural baby

[heart-of-faith]

¿Hacia donde te diriges?

Conforme voy viviendo y sabiendo que será una búsqueda constante; a todo lo que me genere paz...✨

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Guysss just real quick. Because I kinda need to know.

If any of you ever usually send messages to my inbox anonymously and then sent a message to my inbox seemingly having accidentally kept anon off, how should I navigate that?

Reply to it, don’t, contact your account to ask you? Since the point of the anonymous option is to remain anonymous.

[dissvicious]

Ngl, gender not existing in the The clown family is fitting because Blaze gives off mayor „what are your pronouns?“ „What’s a pronoun?“ „indicative but not exclusive of your gender identity“ „stop swearing at me!“ vibes. Maybe some future rival pirate or some eccentric young marine who’s like „NO. We need to adress the people who’s ass we are about to kick properly or what else is the POINT?!“

^ this

actually funny because the "What are your pronouns ? - what's a pronoun?" is a headcanon I told some friends a while ago and keep in mind everytime I draw Blaze

it's like

Marine : Are you a boy or a girl?

Blaze : I'm Blaze

Marine : no but are you a he or a she ?

Blaze : ama clown!

Marine : but what's in your pants???

Blaze : FIRE!!!*

*sidenote : teen Blaze being a grossy little goblin actually probably hide things in his pants which could be fun.

"what in your pants ?

- huuuu lemme check

- ...

- ...

- ... hey I was wondering where I put this pizza slice! *munch*

- *absolutely disgusted face*

[laragazzafortesworld2]

Compagnia? Fatemi qualche domanda interessante 🖤

[atomicrebelfire]

Yes, to everything you said about the fandom Tiger that 911 fed for so long. I could never put it into words like you did! The show and especially the people doing the marketing for it have a hand in the state of the fandom. This is a network procedural, it is not prestige television on HBO that would warrant the amount of post episode media discussion that 911 does every week. It becomes a problem when the pronouncements of Tim post episode get treated like part of the story because he treats those interviews as extensions of the episode as if they are discussing deleted scenes. And I have to say to your point about the cast and writers drawing boundaries when things get toxic: I wish they would! I wish people involved with the show would show some kind of spine every now and then and follow up their complaining with actions. I can absolutely sympathize with Tim or Oliver about the harrassement of "fans" but rewarding this behaviour by engaging with them on social media, by insisting on the "everything is up to interpretation" line when you just had one character explicitly state their sexuality IN SHOW, gearing your marketing towards that crowd? No. This is literally just stoking the crazy and I don´t feel sorry if it bites them in the butt time and time again.

first of all, sorry it took me a minute to respond—been having one of those comedy-of-errors kind of days.

Thank you.....exactly this, Hard agree on everything you said. i don’t think even game of thrones had this much pre/post promo, lol.

and yeah, the part about Tim's interviews acting like deleted scenes? nailed it. it’s one of the big ways this show blurred the line between what’s story, commentary, and PR.

to build on what you said: it’s not just the writers or promo team. the main cast—especially the ones active online—have absolutely leaned into this too. Giving vague interviews, playing both sides and never showing support to guest cast. and when it spirals? suddenly it’s “fandom is toxic.”

and yeah… i’ll say it. i think OS enjoys being the center of speculation. the fake scripts, the blink-and-you-miss-it insta stories, the vague interviews—it keeps him the talk of the town. but when the conversation turns chaotic, he steps back. you can’t stoke the fire and then act surprised when it burns too hot.

harassment is never okay, full stop. fans are responsible for their actions but i also can’t feel too sympathetic when the show and cast helped create this dynamic—and now act surprised when it turns on them. this isn’t a one-sided problem. and they’re still running the same PR strategy.

and because that behavior was encouraged for so long—it’s now reached a point where some fans feel genuinely slighted that the story hasn’t gone the way they hoped.

Sorry for such long reply, i guess i spiraled too 😁🤣

[piercethedoll]

ask a perverted question about me 😘

[forever--darling]

summary: after three years spent away from home because of nasty divorce between your parents, you finally come back & realize that this time you might not be able to keep sam monroe away any longer.

pairings: sam monroe x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings/notes: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of past feelings, mentions of childhood trauma, divorce, daddy issues, allusions to sex

masterlist

There was a lot of things you could attest to even only at twenty-one. After experiencing everything you had under one roof, it wasn’t hard not to grow up fast. To learn just how horrible it is loving someone because of what it can do to you. Something that still remained true even if both of your parents remarried because everything still sounded the same within that forsaken house.

The walls spoke the same languages that your parents would as they whispered, which eventually would become yelling. The indents still lingered with chipped paint near where your height marks resided in the doorframe. It was just as it had been at six and then eleven. Yet at twenty-one, having come home for the first time in over three years, to a house that now only is full of your father’s stuff, it only felt more vacant. More sad and debilitating. 

Your sister never seemed to really accept any of that though, instead choosing to ignore it in favor of the free meals your father cooked or the platinum credit cards he would hand over. Something you were sure would pass along to you as well, anything to try and make you forget it all. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. 

Which was why you still hadn’t ever been in a relationship, let alone ever hangout with anyone long enough to form an attachment. It was the only real reason you had never made a move on Sam Monroe when you were seventeen and in high school. Even as you both sat on a dusty couch littered with weed and beer in some abandoned basement. Even as he stared at you the way he had from behind, the black eyeliner and shadow, blue eyes practically undressing you, almost pulling you forward by a string. You had been a little high and a lot drunk, and yet, you still couldn’t. Not even after having had a crush on him for well over three years. Three years and you left that basement without one kiss or his fingers even tracing along the inside of your underwear. 

Seventeen and even then you couldn’t let yourself like someone let alone get to the point of loving them. 

So, how would it be any different? Sam Monroe stood in front of you that afternoon, under the hot sun, just outside the new house he and his father had built. Sweat stuck to his shirt, dark hair still present but void of blue dye. His piercings were there but left empty, and you couldn’t see any makeup. It hadn’t even looked like him at first. 

But it was, and the shirt gave him away, that in the way your stomach immediately clenched, the familiarity of him enough to make you fall back into that last summer spent in that town before you left for college. 

“Y/N?” his voice was deep, deeper than you had remembered, a sudden twang of confusion filling your ears as he processed your presence. 

Standing in your father’s driveway, boxes scattered at your feet, hair pulled back messily out of your face, and beads of sweat appearing along your shoulders and neck. Still beautifully you. 

“Sam, hi!” 

You were just as surprised as him. Even more so as he seemed so different and yet still completely Sam; just taller, broader, even more like his father than you were expecting. 

“You’re here.” 

It sounded so much more like a question than a statement. 

“Yeah.” 

“Like you’re here in your dad’s driveway.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Yes.” 

“It’s been three years.” 

You stiffened, feeling as if your bones would break like they really did feel how long it had been and how much time had passed. It really had been that long. “I know. It’s been a while.” 

“Too long, really,” he admitted, and somehow it had never sounded so charming before than it had then. That sudden shock seemed to melt away, and what only remained was a softness you hadn’t seen in him before. A teasing smile appeared as he took you in again. 

You felt the lump appear in your throat, somehow matching the tightness in your chest. It was only Sam who could ever make you feel that way, even after three years. 

“How are you?” he asked, stepping forward, his hand extending almost as if he wanted to touch you, possibly pull you into him. You didn’t know, but some part of you wished it would be the latter. A part of you craved a touch you had never met before. 

“I’m good. Really good, actually.” 

“Yeah, it looks that way,” he replied, enough to stain your cheeks with a newfound pink. “How in that time did you manage to grow up?” 

“Me?” you giggled, pushing him lightly, your fingers lingering where they touched his forearm, “Look at you.” 

He chuckled, that glint evident as ever, “What about me?” 

“You have a house, Monroe. An actual house that I’m sure you pay taxes on with a job.” 

“Yes.” 

“And college?” 

“Online classes, yeah,” he confirmed and you coudn’t deny the wide smile that appeared. 

Almost like a swell of pride had formed — a sudden amazement that he really had done it proved everyone wrong in that fucking town. 

“That’s great, Sam. It really is,” you smiled, that urge to touch him again appearing, but it somehow waned at the thought, “I was sorry to hear about your dad.” 

He cleared his throat, the light diminishing but only briefly as his eyes danced across yours, almost trying to find something in them, “Yeah, thanks.”

“I can’t assume it was easy.” 

“No.” 

“I wish we could’ve been here for the funeral. I wanted to, but my professors wouldn’t let me reschedule my exams.” 

“It’s okay, I understand. Both your parents sent very kind letters to us. I really appreciated them.” 

You nodded, not knowing a response to it other than you should have done more. Texted, called, or tried to come back earlier, earlier than now, when you were only moving home for the summer. It was Sam. The way you felt about him was everything, really. Yet you were too consumed in the comfort of the distance and hiding. That was what you had focused on for so long. 

Your head bowed, eyes unable to meet his, instead finding comfort in his sambas, and the green grass. Inhaling, you glanced up at the house. The house you never even saw complete until then. You took it in. “It truly is a beautiful house. You guys did a great job.” 

“Yeah I think so too. Plus, it looked like it needed an adult to live in it.” 

You looked back at him, the teasing demeanor having completely taken over his expression in the form of dark knitted brows and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “Adult?” 

“Yes, since you think I’m so grown up.” 

“You are, and I never thought I would see the day, Monroe. But, it seems I have.” 

“It seems so. Finally, Y/N Y/L/N is home.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed, somehow feeling a small sliver of the universe realign. Perhaps by the way he was looking at you or the reality that would become of you because of him. Feelings you were sure never really left in the first place. “I will say not much has changed around here. Well, except for one thing.”

His brows furrowed, lip lifting in interest as you took in his clean face. 

“The black eyeliner. I'm not lying when I say I might miss it.” 

“Really?” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, it was totally working.” 

“Working?”

You nodded, a teasing look of your own apparent, “Yeah. It was hot. Hm, just never thought you would be so different.” 

“Different?” he scoffed, the words somehow completely wrong as they left your lips, “I’m not that different, Y/N. I’m still me.” 

“Right,” you nodded, eyes following how his chest rose and fell, the t-shirt alone catching your attention, the bright yellow words somehow something you would expect to be said, “Well, I’m glad some things stayed the same.”

He smirked, following my gaze to the front of his shirt. It was black with bright yellow bolded writing which said, ‘I’m good in bed. I can sleep all day.’  The same type of fucking shirt that seventeen-year-old him would wear, seeming unable to part from the looks he would get when people would read them. 

“God, you wore stupid shirts like this all the time.” 

“Hey! I find them pretty funny. They’re charming if anything.” 

“Charming?” you laughed, the word fitting Sam exactly though you were sure no other girl would have described it that way back then. “It can only be charming if it’s true.” 

“True?” 

“Yes,” you replied, the word a mere mumble as you truly noted how it felt with him standing so close, looming over you. 

“Well, how about you can be the one to decide if it’s charming. Let you tell me if I am good in bed or not. Would make for an interesting summer, wouldn’t it?”

You knew then you were fucked. So completely and inevitably because you had waited that long. Since you were seventeen sitting in that hot gross basement, him only a few inches from you. You had waited, and suddenly Sam seemed so much more tantalizing, enough so you would maybe give in. Just this once.

[number-2-hero-hawks]

*bestows you with fangs for your preferred size*

OMG!

I have fangs now!!!

[wtfjd95]

Whoever that anon was just now in my inbox, that was disgusting. Don't send shit like that

[writerofjourneys]

not trying to be a dick but if all of your sumire thoughts are just character hate like, what exactly possesses you to put it in the all the main fandom tags as well as the character tag. like, if you don't want to get hate from her "cult" why are you putting your rants in the tags they use. puzzling behaviour.

(I’m not adding Keep Reading on this)

Okay, dear Anon, let me answer this “puzzling behaviour” you think that is.

This is literally my RIGHT as freedom of speech and that just BECAUSE I’M MAKING AN OPINION, it’s labeled as hate. And I CAN hate a character all I want because that’s my right to think and choose and feel to do so. Why do I always have to keep stating this?

My thoughts on Sumire are everything I’ve considered on how her role and character doesn’t fit the story and point she is supposedly supposed to make from the writers. That’s MY take. So take it or leave it. I don’t dislike her for NOTHING!! I’m not throwing this crap for shits and giggles. I have reasons. My rant posts are my reasons. What I’m seeing here is you being incredibly biased and narrow-minded.

And they have had debates by others. Do you know how lengthy these were to read and respond back? They didn’t start shit but rather offered polite opinions of their own. The reactions to these things were exactly what I expected and something I debated about even posting that in the first place because I knew people were going spew pointless hater talk bullcrap at me. And it’s tiring. Especially about a character that’s worshipped so highly, it makes anything you say against them seem controversial.

And these tags are there because it’s about them? What’s hard to understand that while I knew I was bringing myself attention for adding these tags, I did so on the grounds of seeing anyone else thinking similar things or offering something different instead of collecting tumbleweeds waiting for anyone to stumble across my posts. I had said before that if anyone could even sway me on this, they could try. But after all this time I can’t be bothered to give a shit at the end of the day on a fictional character and this hate judgement you’re throwing me with hypocrisy. Blind level of understanding. And that’s not what my rants were at all.

If you can’t even make a counterpoint to my argument, much less talk about why I’m such a hater for my personal thoughts, even with a series of reasons to explain why, then your response here has no purpose.

I am TIRED of having to repeat myself over this pettiness and repetitive song and dance calling me a hater with hate. I can say whatever I want about whatever I want. Everyone’s always going to think differently and be judgy about them but nobody needs permission to think differently. Have a nice day, Anon.

[dissvicious]

I feel like Rory judges people a lot by how they treat his relationship with Vernes. Of course this starts by stating the obvious: Do NOT, I respect, DO.NOT. Make fun of him for it or try to take his plush away from him. Psychoanalysing him also doesn’t turn out to well if you try to question him about it. Trying to play into the fantasy is fifty / fifty for lots of reasons, he doesn’t really appreciate it if you start to baby the thing he essentially sees as his confidant and coworker. He is aware that Vernes is just a plush toy and he also is aware that other people don’t perceive him like he does, so treating him like one would a baby doll feels patronizing to him (Also Vernes is not a baby don’t go „Does Mistuh Wabbit want a nappy nap?“ at him. Don’t insult his intelligence). However he appreciates it when people care for Vernes in a way that goes beyond „Stick him in a box to keep him from harm“. If someone makes an effort to do little things like set him near the port window so he can look out the window while Rory is away, or if you come back from an island with a little raincoat that is usually made for dolls because „You mentioned that you didn’t want to take Vernes out to the deck the last week because it was raining on and off , would this help?“ he actually appreciates it. Shows him you see his „delusion“ not as a thing to be fixed or to be entertained but as something that’s inherently a part of him.

I feel like his siblings and parents get it the most in the beginning and thusly sometimes get away with things other people would get a laughgas bomb for. „Praytell Skye, why did you dress up my coworker like a smarmy little prince for your tea party? And choose your answer wisely.“ „ It’s not a tea party. It’s a murder Mystery and detective Vernes is on the case. They found lady Bellum dead in the bathtub.“ „…. Any leads?“ „The biggest subject is the governess herself at the moment, because the lady threatened to expose her affair with the maid to her husband.“ Leans in conspicuously. „Doesn’t help that they are gonna find the Governess dead in the attic in a few minutes.“ „Intriguing. Can I join?“ „Sure!“ Buggy ,nervously looking into the room trough the door: „What the hell? What happened to just playing house?“

AHHHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH THANK YOUUU

You're 100% right about the Rory - Vernes dynamic, tho. Rory would judge people on (basically everything) how they talk to Vernes. And this dynamic stay true when he hits teenager years!

A few thoughts:

I think that Blaze may be the only one who ever managed to "hurt" Vernes. Tired of being the target of his brother pranks he stole the plush and left a really poorly written kidnapper note. This ended with Rory grabbing him by the collar with the most pissed off, angry, terryfing face he ever made, asking him with a very cold tone to give him Vernes back. Blaze NEVER touched Vernes again after that.

The end with Skye made me giggle because I have this idea that she's really annoyed to be perceived as "the girl" of the family. She's the kind of little girl to play murder, punk stylist, or surgeon whenever someone offered her a doll. Weird barbie infinite generator. So yes her being caught playing tea party but it's actually some kind of Agatha Christie roleplay ? Fit wells!

ALSO Rory is EXTREMELY sensitive when it comes to Vernes fashion tastes. "Hey Rory look I knitted this little sweat for Vernes !" *Roll eyes* "A cute little pink pullover? *Sigh* he already told you like a hundred times he was more in the classic academy aesthetic, plus brown fits his tone better." (Telling this like you would explain something absolutely obvious to someone really stupid) (which you are in his eyes)

When he developed his illness, Vernes become even more important to him. Like a mental barrier against dark voices in his head.

He often uses Vernes to insult people obviously. "MMM, what do you say ? Uncle Zoro sink more than a herd of pigs and he should use his unique braincell to shower instead of playing with swords? That's not really nice, Vernes, behave yourself."

Speaking of that, Luffy and Robin are probably the strawhats who get along the best with the Vernes thing. Robin with her soft understanding nature, Luffy because if Rory says the plush talk then it talks duh ?

Adult Rory probably has a tattoo of Vernes Somewhere.

[ghoulsgraveyard]

Robert Smith

agree