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#fish cutting method
monitorkernelaccess · 8 months
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me when I see a post I disagree with on tumblr dot com but I don’t wanna reblog it because it’s really just someone expressing their opinion and it’s years old anyway
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[ID: A version of the man at a party “they don’t know” meme. It reads:
“They don’t know Spectre in the movie was already a merger between the place that had no name, a purgatory-like place just outside of Ashland, and the town of Specter, a cute town Edward buys just for the hell of it, and also that the story of the witch is a merger of the old lady with the glass eye and Jenny Hill, the girl who lives in a swamp and acts strange and crazy and mysterious after Edward leaves her with a broken heart, so that’s why they’re the same person in the movie. And also that John August wrote the book to the musical too and Daniel Wallace approved of his adaptations for both movie and musical.” End ID]
#original post#big fish#also that musicals and movies have different methods of storytelling and different purposes a lot of the time so things are gonna change#you can fit a lot more into a movie and have the audience understand it#and even more in a book#cause it’s easier to pause and rewatch or reread and stuff#so I think some things were cut to make the story less confusing#but also I see it as. the book is the original. the movie is John August’s (and tim Burton’s?) fantastical adaptation#where there’s like more magic than myth. like it’s more like fun fairytales than myths that are sometimes dark#and also where everything turns out to be based in truth#and then the musical is like refining the movie plot and treating that story as it’s own thing#not as worried about fitting in as much from the book as possible because things are gonna have to be cut anyway#so instead it’s just fitting in some of the most spectacular (like visual spectacle) parts of the movie#also I’m pretty sure (though I just realized this a few days ago)#that specter in the book isn’t even a town Edward told William about. that’s not Edward’s story#it’s William’s story. it’s his first attempt at adding to his father’s mythology#but it’s dark and it doesn’t paint Edward in an entirely positive light because at first William can only think of him as an absent father#so the myth he writes is an explanation of why he was so absent#so like there’s. no ‘real’ specter. there’s no ‘real’ Jenny hill#so tbh if the goal is complete accuracy to the source#or at least accuracy of all the themes of the source#the movie already ‘bungled’ a lot lol#anyway. not that the one person who made that post will see this#also I don’t really want them to#also anyway big fish night 2 tonight yippee#you’ll never guess who I play. based on all my big fish posts
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aloke2012 · 4 days
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A Comprehensive Guide to Fish Cuts Including Darne, Tronçon, and Beyond.
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girlscience · 1 month
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one more paper read, very interesting about identifying the age of blue sucker fish, but still no questions *cries*
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fishingunderthestars · 9 months
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i kinda noticed i’m the only blog who kills pokemon that’s like. actually liked lol.
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Velma
eddie munson x fem!reader
You attend a Halloween party with Eddie, things don't go quite as planned when Jason Carver acts like a jerk.
cw: allusions to curvy reader, drinking, drugs, blood, violence, eddie fights off screen, body insecurities, kissing, not proofread, working on writing fluff
Word Count: 5.5k
masterlist
“Are you gonna go to Chelsea Hanover’s Halloween party?” Eddie asked, long legs hanging out the back of his van. His stained Reeboks were planted firmly on the concrete, knees pushing out of the rips in his black jeans. You sat in the parking lot of the movie theater, eating the remainder of the snacks you hadn’t finished earlier. The night was quiet, most Hawkins residents already tucked safely into their beds.
You paused midway through trying to shove a handful of popcorn into your mouth, is Eddie going insane? “Are you going to Chelsea Hanover’s Halloween party?” You were practically gawking as you swung your sock-covered feet in the crisp night air. The sneakers you wore had been abandoned in a pile on the shag carpet. 
You thought Eddie was over all the stupid high school activities at this point, with it being his third go at senior-year and all. He’d never talked about going to a party in the past six months of your budding friendship, and, in Hawkins, there were plenty of parties to attend. 
He was quiet as he took another drink from his slushie, red-stained lips turning up into a smirk. “I was thinking about going to sell. Make some money off the rich kids.” 
“What, do you want me to come entertain you?” There was an edge to your voice that you didn’t expect. Your chest felt tight as soon as he brought up the party, anxiety knitting your lungs together. You traced the cracks in the asphalt with your eyes. 
Your frustration wasn’t meant for Eddie, it rarely ever was.
You had to stop pretending that all your so-called friends from your junior year of high school weren’t because of Billy. None of them had even bothered to speak to you since he dumped you like trash last summer. And especially not since the day of his funeral. They were fake and plastic people.
Eddie chuckled, fishing his carton of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He didn’t seem to notice how stiff you’d become, your legs rigid in the night air. “Well, yeah. If you want. It could be a night of making fun of Hawkins’ finest.” 
You smiled weakly, trying to hide the sour mood that had come over you. Eddie just wanted a friend to be there–you knew Gareth and Jeff would say no immediately. You didn’t want to throw him to the wolves alone. Chelsea Hanover’s parties were awful if you didn’t know anyone or didn’t want to dance. Eddie didn’t seem like much of a dancer to you. “You know what, sure. Count me in, Munson.”
His pearly white teeth lit up in the glow of his lighter as he brought the cigarette to his lips, a smile radiating across his masculine features. A tendril of anxiety wrapped around your throat as you filed through worst-case-scenarios, each growing more and more catastrophic. 
Your stomach did a flip as you pushed the bucket of popcorn aside, trying to be subtle as your thoughts raced. You suddenly obsessed about how your thighs pressed together and your bra cut into the layer of excess fat in your back, all new discoveries in the past couple of months. Your mother had reminded you that being thin at eighteen would be harder than being thin at seventeen—you’d locked yourself in your bathroom to cry for the better part of your birthday after stepping on the scale.
Eddie didn’t seem to notice your turmoil, methodically chewing as though everything was fine. Of course he wouldn’t notice, he didn’t understand the intricacies of girlhood that made your skin feel too tight. You fluffed your sweater out, suddenly self-conscious about what areas of your body it was snug against. 
Robin would help you find a costume. 
The high socks squeezed just above your knees as you made your way up to the front door, red skirt swishing around the middles of your plush thighs with each step. You took a deep breath, a wave of heat and sound rolling over you as you opened the door. There were people in a variety of costumes everywhere inside. A few classmates nodded at you in acknowledgment as you shut the door and stepped into the humid living room, quickly turning their attention back to their friends. 
Where was Eddie? You did a once over of the room, scanning the edges of the dance floor for the shaggy-haired boy. The couches had all been pushed out of the way to make space for a makeshift dance floor, the stereo in the corner booming Cyndi Lauper. It was a miracle that it couldn’t be heard outside. 
The clusters of people spilled into the kitchen. There was limited space to weave through the crowd, you kept whispering apologies as you made your way to the other room. Upon entering, you were handed a cup of red punch from a boy you vaguely knew from English. You offered him a smile, a nod in his direction as you raised the cup to your lips.
You wrinkled your nose as you took a sip, it was strong. 
There were no traces of Eddie anywhere. The room was filled with Indiana Joneses and Maddonas and Ghostbusters and Flashdance characters. No curly-headed metalheads in sight, though. Eddie didn’t seem like someone who would wear a Halloween costume, not for a party he was planning on dealing at. 
You leaned against the breakfast counter lazily, watching the people on the dance floor bump into one another. The plastic cup stuck to your fingers as you gulped down the rest of the drink, grimacing at the after taste of vodka. You traced the edges of the porcelain tiles as you took up your place as a designated wallflower. 
You downed four more cups of the punch before you got restless, deciding to investigate the rest of the party before accepting defeat. Your feet shuffled in slow motion as you approached the sliding glass door on the other end of the room. It was open, allowing teens to trickle outside and spread across the dark backyard. 
The smell of cigarettes and weed wafted through the door as the autumn breeze picked it up, sparking a small flame of hope that your best friend was outside.
You tripped on the door track as you stepped into the much cooler night, steadying yourself and your sloshing drink against the doorframe before looking up. There were a few groups outside, most nursing drinks or joints or cigarettes and murmuring to one another. The music coming from the living room was so faint that you could barely make out the lyrics.
“Hey, Velma!” Your head slowly turned towards the voice, your lips buzzing as the alcohol settled in. Eddie was illuminated by the soft light diffused by the curtains in the kitchen window. He sat at a metal table with his trusty lunch box, head cocked slightly to the side as he absorbed your costume. You realized he was wearing a dark green “Corroded Coffin” t-shirt under his leather jacket and dark jeans, meaning you vaguely matched. 
If you squinted, or drank too much.
You fell into the chair next to him with an oof!, crossing your legs at the ankles as you leaned back. Your head lolled back to rest on the weathered cushion as a breathy laugh escaped your throat. “We match,” you said, looking at how the stars were swirling in the sky. Your breaths were heavy as you waited for the world to still, a smile stretching its way across your face regardless. 
“I didn’t know you were gonna come in costume, princess,” Eddie laughed, busily rolling joints to keep his hands occupied. You placed the sticky plastic cup on the table before stretching your arms out in front of you. Your gaze traced the wide cable-knit of the orange sweater, wiggling your fingers as you contemplated.
Self-consciousness reared its ugly head, making you sit up and lean closer to the brunette. “Do I look bad?” you whispered, fingertips finding the edge of your skirt. Your eyes were wide as he paused to study you, a soft grin breaking out on his face. You waited for his judgment, fiddling with anything in your reach before landing on braiding a thin strip of your hair.
“You look great,” he assured. There was a beat of silence, your heads still bent together conspiratorially. Eddie looked like he was thinking, his tongue licked his bottom lip. “You should’ve told me you were gonna dress up, I would’ve done it with you.” 
“You already look like you did, Shaggy,” you murmured with a sly half smile, taking another drink as you settled back into the metal chair. Eddie grinned, glancing down at his own outfit. 
Everything got all fuzzy on the edges as you finished the red liquid in your cup, joking with Eddie between drug deals. The basketball players who came by barely looked at you, only sparing glances as Eddie overcharged them for weed. 
He didn’t notice the cold shoulders, or he at least pretended not to, making fun of their costume choices as soon as they walked away. You pretended like they didn’t bother you. It felt strange to be at one of these parties after everything that happened with Billy, you’d never felt more invisible. 
But Eddie saw you, his brown eyes drifting to you more often than usual. You couldn’t tell if it was just because he was worried about how much you were drinking. You found yourself liking the way he talked, hands waving wildly as his voice slid into different impersonations of the people around you. He was always so genuinely Eddie, you wondered what it would feel like to be like that.
“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you said as Eddie’s attention was pulled away by a group of juniors with wide eyes and crumpled dollar bills. He gave you a thumbs up as he rifled through the contents of his stash. 
You swayed a bit as you stood, your grip on the plastic cup crumpling it slightly. The juniors eyed you as you walked around the edge of their little group, Eddie’s voice spitting out prices calling their attention back to him.  
Armed with a deep breath to ground yourself, you shouldered your way back into the house. There were even more people than before. With no room to move properly, you jammed yourself into the throng of people that were making their way to the kitchen. Despite how many people were here there was surprisingly still plenty to drink. 
You had never known Chelsea to be so generous, at least not during your short-lived friendship.
You stopped in front of the punch bowl, staring at your wobbling reflection in the liquid as you filled your cup with the ladle. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you hardly recognized yourself. The proportions of your face were so different than when you primped and prepped in the mirror, your gaze felt less harsh as you stared at the girl in the punch bowl. You could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks as you glared at the rose-colored image of yourself, wondering what you actually looked like. 
A hand clasped your shoulder, an anchor back to reality. You pivoted on your heel, thinking that Eddie had come to talk to you about something, maybe ready to leave and go find somewhere to park and talk and listen to music. 
Your face fell when you recognized Jason Carver’s blue eyes.
It had been ages since Jason had so much as talked to you. He used to follow Billy around like a puppy, hoping that it would make him the captain of the basketball team after graduation. Of course, Billy had treated Jason like the rest of you, rewarding his neediness with a cold shoulder.  
“You know, Billy would be so disappointed if he was still here.” Jason may as well have spit on you. You stepped back, your spine pressing into the chilly counter as you tried to put some space between you. His eyes had a hard time settling, staring you up and down as you tried to remain still under his gaze. “He probably wouldn’t even recognize you, especially now that you’re hanging out with the losers.”
You scowled, rage making your throat tighten. “He didn’t even like you, Jason.” Blonde eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m sure he’s rolling in his grave knowing that the pathetic Jesus kid who would’ve blown him if he asked is in charge of the basketball team.” 
You were getting a little too loud, the people standing nearest to you were turning their heads to see what the commotion was about. Jason evaluated the crowd before grabbing your wrist, a sick smile spreading across his face. “I think you’ve had enough.” There was a threatening edge to his voice as he leaned to whisper in your ear. 
You strained against him, the punch sloshing over the edges of the cup and down your fingers. Droplets flecked onto his yellow Teen Wolf costume like blood. Panic started to creep up your throat, the reminder that none of the other people at the party were going to help you made your blood run cold.
“Jason, stop,” you muttered, your voice thick. More punch slid down your hand as you tried to tug yourself from his grip. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you attempted to find a way out. “Let me go.”
He squeezed your wrist even tighter as hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. You were sure long lines of mascara were left behind, you couldn’t even move your free hand to wipe them away. Fear paralyzed you as the pounding of the music filled every space in your mind. Your mind whirred uselessly, so caught off guard by the aggression that you hardly knew how to respond. 
A ringed hand wrapped around Jason’s forearm; you flinched at the sudden intrusion. Eddie was bristling next to you, squeezing the jock’s arm until he let you go. You pulled your wrist back to your chest, your brows knitting together as your lips fell into a pout.
The metalhead pushed his lunchbox into your stomach, his eyes dark as they scoured your face. “How about you go wait in the van, princess? The keys are inside the box,” he murmured, his expression leaving no room for protest. You hesitated a moment, causing him to jerk his chin smoothly toward the front door. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, his jaw set.
Suddenly shy, you dropped your gaze to the floor. Everything was swimming around you, the party too loud and the room too hot and your hands were so sticky with punch. You’d never felt more overwhelmed. 
Nodding once, you gripped the handle of the lunchbox for dear life as you scurried out of the house. By the time the night air hit you, you realized you were still holding the cup, most of it empty as it coated your hand and stained the skin. You choked back the rest of its contents, crumpling it in your hand and tossing it into the grass. Eddie’s van was parked across the street, looking out of place amongst the other cars.
You were almost asleep in the passenger seat by the time Eddie threw the door open, scaring you into waking up. He was obscured by the lights of the house behind him as he climbed inside. “Eddie, what happened?” you croaked as he tried to jam the keys into the ignition, his hands practically vibrating. 
You gasped as he turned to look in the center console. His right eyebrow was caked entirely with blood, a gash splitting it nearly in two. Blood was smeared in a trail down his face, following the curve of his nostril and making its way over his pale throat and to his shirt collar. He plucked a cigarette carton out of the glove box, the streetlamp illuminating the smears of blood across his pale fingers. His knuckles were blown apart. 
“Eddie,” you murmured, reaching across the center console hesitantly. He still didn’t look at you, rummaging around for his zippo. The house beyond was relatively quiet, no signs of a party other than all the cars parked along the sidewalk. Jason walked into view of the upstairs bathroom window, glaring at the van before pulling down the shade. His face was smeared with blood, his costume ruffled.
The chains on Eddie’s jacket sleeve jingled as he lit the cigarette, taking a drag with a sigh. “Eddie.” You hesitated for a moment before you pressed your palm into the worn leather. You could feel the muscles in his shoulder jump under your fingertips–you rarely ever touched him. It just felt like a boundary the two of you never crossed. “Y-you didn’t have to do that,” you said. 
The heater and the radio jumped to life, Dio blasting in the small space. Eddie’s brows furrowed as he turned to study your face. “Of course I had to,” his voice was surprisingly soft. His hand came out of nowhere, a warm thumb wiping your cheek. Your nerves must have been fried, because you leaned into his touch without thinking about it. “That idiot made you cry, couldn’t just let him get away with it.”
You pulled in a ragged breath, a bit surprised by the amount of tenderness in his voice. His hand was so warm, his fingers wiping away the lines of makeup that ran down your cheeks when you cried. Shaking fingers brought the cigarette back to his pink lips, you watched him take a drag and blow the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. 
“Can we go?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as your throat tightened. It was all you could do to keep from crying, you didn’t even know why you wanted to cry this time.
He smiled, nodding as he pulled away from the curb like a maniac. His hand dropped from your face, turning the radio up until the heavy sound of a guitar riff was blasting through the speakers.
Apparently it was Wayne’s night off, so the trailer was off-limits for a late night sanctuary. That was how you ended up at the quarry, the side door pulled open as you and Eddie sprawled out in the back of the van. You’d guzzled a bottle of water as soon as you parked, already starting to feel like a bit of a human being again.
Eddie had cleaned up his face with the bandana he kept in his back pocket. The gash in his eyebrow looked painful, but he kept assuring you it was fine. He sat against the wall of the van as he wiped his knuckles, the largest one on his right hand slightly torn.
It was like once you all had crossed the barrier of touch, Eddie didn’t want to stop. He just kept touching you, be it a hand brushing against your arm or his leg jostling yours. It felt shockingly comfortable, making you wonder why you had been so resistant to touching him before. 
“Those rings must not have felt nice,” you commented absentmindedly, laying on your stomach on the carpet as you watched him. Moonlight flooded in the van through the open door, glinting off the silver that adorned his fingers.
He smiled, flexing his hands as he looked down at them. “Carver didn’t seem too excited about them,” he murmured, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 
You’d cleaned most of the makeup off your face on the drive to the quarry using a baby wipe you kept in your purse. He hardly ever saw you with a clean face, the moonlight revealing a few blemishes on your skin. The urge to cover your cheeks still lingered, but it felt nice to have it off.
“Thanks for like, defending my honor and stuff,” you murmured, looking down at your chipped nail polish. “You really didn’t have to do that, Eddie.”
The idea that he would go out of his way to fight Jason Carver on your behalf was still hard for you to wrap your head around. Eddie loved to talk and bitch and complain about the basketball team and larger society regularly, but he wasn’t violent. 
“I did.” His eyes searched yours, wide and honest as always. A joint found its way between his long fingers, he took a deep drag. You watched him through heavy eyelids as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, he continued until he’d finished nearly half the joint. “I couldn’t just let him mess with you like that, not my girl.” 
My girl. My girl. My girl. The phrase went off in your head like a bell. You didn’t know if he’d said it just because he was high or if he actually meant it like that. You wet your lips with your tongue, glancing at him for a moment.
“Well, thanks,” you breathed, twirling your fingers in a loose thread on one of the weaved blankets he kept in the back of the van. You had wrapped yourself in it on multiple occasions, mostly on cold nights when you were ungodly high. But tonight, alcohol thrummed through you like liquid fire.
Eddie finished the remainder of the joint on his own, his warm brown eyes tinged with pink as his smile stretched easier. There was a fluidity to him when he was stoned, his normally theatrical mannerisms mellowing out to something that seemed less like a performance and more genuine. His movements became more languid, his lanky form sprawling out on a half-deflated bean bag. His calf rested on top of your leg.
The cassette that was playing ended, the power chords fading into silence as you heard the player whir to a stop. The water lapping at the cliff face below and the breeze rustling the foliage outside the van seemed louder, indicative of the transition from fall to winter that was soon to come.
“You want to pick the next one?” Eddie asked, his voice soft and breathy like it always got when he was stoned. It was sweet of him to ask, considering you knew that he already had a playlist of what he wanted to put on next written out in his head. He was particular about music, always wanting to be in-control of what was playing no matter where you were. 
You knew he meant for you to pick from his cassette collection.
“Yeah,” you answered, a smirk starting to spread on your face. You stood up, your feet digging into the shag carpet as you crouched to avoid hitting your head. “I’ve got a Madonna tape in my purse that I’ve been wanting to listen to.” 
“Madonna?” You could hear the anguish in his voice as you stepped over his long legs to reach the front. There was an air of disbelief at your choice, Eddie couldn’t stand Madonna.
You laughed, nodding as you pulled the aforementioned tape from your bag and flashing it to Eddie. “You said I could pick,” you teased, hunkering down in front of the radio to exchange the cassettes. Stunned silence filled the space behind you as you waited for the Dio tape to be spit out, you tapped the Madonna cassette against your kneecap.
What at first was silence burst into a flurry of motion behind you.
Before you could react, Eddie’s hands locked around your waist from behind and elicited a squeal from your throat as he yanked you back. “I’m not listening to Madonna,” he said, twisting his body around yours to try to snatch the tape from your hand. 
You scrambled, holding the cassette out of his reach and angling your shoulders to keep him away. “Eddie! You said I could pick!” you exclaimed with a peal of laughter, feeling the length of his body pressed against the back of yours. He pulled you close with a forearm curled around your waist, reaching over your shoulder. 
“Yeah, you can pick from good music!” His chin bumped the top of your head as you both fell forward from losing your balance. The floor absorbed most of the impact, Eddie’s shoulder banging into the floorboards next to you. You let out a soft grunt as Eddie landed partially on top of you, pressing you into the carpet. 
“This is good music,” you insisted, digging your elbow and knees into the thick carpet so you could shimmy forward. Eddie slammed an elbow in front of your shoulder, stopping any forward movement. There was no time to redirect as he melded you into his shadows, lanky limbs moving over where you were prone. His other hand curled around your wrist, so close to taking the tape. “You’re just judgmental!”
In a last ditch effort you twisted your arm from his grip, pulling your hand under your body and pressing the tape between your stomach and the rustled blanket. “You’re not being fair!” You were still giggling, Eddie stuffed his fingers between your forearm and your stomach in an attempt to follow the path of your arm. 
“It’s my van, princess,” Eddie said with a breathy laugh of his own. He lifted himself off you, letting you breathe for a moment before his hands scooped beneath your shoulders and flipped you onto your back. “I can judge however I want to.” 
You tried to push him away with your feet, matching smiles on your faces as he reached for you around the assault. With a shove your legs were out of the way, his torso settling between them with your knees on either side of his ribs. He leaned over you, managing to pry the tape from your hands and slide it into the pocket of his leather jacket. 
You still had some fight in you, reaching for Eddie’s pocket before he grabbed your wrists and pressed them to the floor. “Eddie!” you whined, squirming in an attempt to throw him off. 
He was smiling above you with all his teeth, the two of you panting as you stared at one another. The distance between you decreased, long fingers threading through yours as his head dipped lower. You were so close that you could practically count his eyelashes. Eddie scraped his teeth over  his lower lip, a clear sign that he was about to ask you something. You nodded before he could, your heart pounding in your chest as you prayed that you weren’t reading into things.
When he pressed his lips against yours you knew you guessed right.
You sighed into it, your eyes fluttering closed as your mouth moulded to his. Butterflies had made a home in your stomach, part of you wondering when you started having feelings for Eddie. Why did it take you so long to do something about them?
His mouth was so soft, slotting against yours in clumsy open-mouthed kisses. You both were smiling, giggling nervously when your teeth clashed or noses bumped. It was as though you both were clumsy and new to this, the anxiety of wanting to impress making you forget how to relax for a moment. His hair tickled your cheeks and neck, curling wildly in every direction. You desperately wanted to thread your fingers into it, your hands flexing against his.
A strong gust of wind blew dried leaves into the open door of the van, the chill cutting through your clothes making the two of you pull away from one another with laughs. Eddie tugged the door closed in a quick motion, leaning back on a bean bag and patting the side of his thigh in a motion to come over there. 
The moonlight was diffused through the windows on the sliding side doors, illuminating Eddie in a beautiful silver as you practically crawled on your hands and knees to him. You were a bit off-balance, partially falling against his chest. He chuckled, curling an arm around your back and pulling you closer with a wide hand pressed against the curve of your spine.
“Been waiting to kiss you like this for months,” Eddie murmured, his calloused fingers tracing along your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your hands resting on the soft Corroded Coffin shirt he wore. 
“Yeah?” you asked, your eyes wide as you looked at him. Part of you didn’t want to believe him, you’d thought his taste in women leaned on either far-end of the Morticia Addams to Chrissy Cunningham spectrum. Maybe you were wrong, or at least you prayed that you were. When considering the Eddie Spectrum of eligible women, you were situated somewhere near the middle.
He nodded, stamping a quick kiss to your lips. “Of course, princess,” he said, his other hand coming to rest on the curve of your thigh. Goosebumps pricked along your skin, his fingertips tracing up and down the bare section of your leg between the skirt and high socks. “And you make a very cute, Velma.”
You rolled your eyes at the compliment, shrugging it off. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, eyes cast down at the blood soaked into the collar of his shirt. Shyness consumed you, it had been a while since a guy had flirted with you like this.
Well, Eddie’s fingers drawing figure-eights on the outside of your thigh felt like a little more than flirting.
One of his eyebrows lifted, disappearing beneath his bangs as he looked at you. “I do mean it.” Before you could argue with him, he pulled you into another kiss. 
It was enough to take your mind off of it, your head tilting up toward his as you twisted your body closer to him. Your hips turned, the handcuffs serving as his belt buckle digging into you through the thick fabric of your skirt. Thick thighs split apart over his knee, your spine curving on instinct. 
Normally, you wouldn’t have considered the back of Eddie’s van to be romantic, but now there was nowhere else you would rather be. 
Unable to think of much else, the kisses became messier. The sloppy smacks of your mouth against his made you giddy, fingers curling over his shoulders and keeping him close. His hand slipped under your sweater, palm pressing into your ribs like a brand. A submissive whimper was pulled from your throat, a dizzy feeling filling your head. You didn’t know if it was from the lack of oxygen or the alcohol you’d drank earlier.
Heat was pooling between your legs, making your thighs momentarily squeeze against his. The feeling of Eddie touching you made your insecurities about how your body had changed melt away, he didn’t seem to mind the softer parts of you as much as you did. Your hands traveled to his belt and traced the silver buckle of it, making Eddie pull away with a shake of his head. “Not tonight, baby,” he murmured, a sheepish smile curling his pink lips.
Despite the small part of your mind that was still rational, it felt like a slap to the face. You stiffened in his hold as you yanked your hands back like you’d touched a hot stove. “Oh, uh, sorry. I misunderstood,” you murmured, trying to tamp down the sting of rejection. You didn’t want him to feel bad, there wasn’t anything to feel guilty for.
Eddie snorted, shaking his head again. “Trust me, I want to,” he breathed, gently cupping your cheek. Something burned in his gaze. His thumb pressed into the corner of your spit-slicked lips, his chocolate brown eyes lingering for a moment. “Just don’t want to when you’re drunk, not in the back of my van.”
There was a sincerity in his tone that made you melt, rejection fading into yet another reason you felt like you were starting to fall head over heels for Eddie. “Okay, you’re right,” you said sweetly, turning your head to kiss the pad of his thumb.
“You want me to pick another tape?” The silence that had fallen over the van became noticeable. 
He laughed, seemingly having forgotten what had gotten the two of you tangled together in the first place. “No Madonna in the van, those are the rules,” he said, his fingers caressing your jaw. “Even for pretty girls like you.”
“Oh shut up,” you sighed, your face heating up despite yourself. “You’re just trying to butter me up so I pick Metallica.” 
Eddie snorted, the width of his shoulders squaring with confidence as he kept you in the space between his arm and torso. You could feel how warm he was. “You really think so?” he asked, the soft lilt of a tease in his voice.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.” It still felt like there was lightning between your ribs, electricity pooling at every juncture where you and Eddie touched. 
“But, I was teasing you. It’s a Van Halen cassette… you would know that if you’d bothered to read it before you decided to wrestle me for it.” You stamped another kiss against the tip of his nose. He wrinkled it endearingly, making you smile.
“Well now I’m glad I didn’t.”
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creature-wizard · 1 year
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Ways To Be A Garbage Witch
Look everyone, in These Trying Times we can't always afford things so we gotta make do with what we got. So here's some hot tips to help you become a garbage witch:
Save and use apple seeds, orange seeds, peach pits, cherry pits, etc. to use in your spells.
Make a spirit board/pendulum board out of an empty cardboard box.
Make drawstring pouches out of old clothes.
Use bag strings for binding magic or use them in small drawstring bags.
Shoelaces and drawstrings from old pajamas or sweatpants are fine for knot magic or turning into drawstrings for pouches.
Save glass jars for spell jars.
Study carrion animals, animals that eat garbage, fungus, and the process of decomposition in general. Learn about the importance of biodiversity, and the hazards of oversterilization.
But also study proper sanitation methods, and be aware of biohazards. Don't go living in a house fulla mold or fish through people's garbage for... uhhh... ummm... taglocks. Don't store chicken bones so they'll rot.
If you have a compost bin, write anything you want to "decompose" out of your life on a banana peel. Put the banana peel in the bin.
Learn how to repair broken stuff. (But also learn what you really shouldn't repair for yourself - EG, microwaves - lest you meet with a horrible fate.)
Make charms/talismans by cutting out pictures of things that correspond with your intent and decoupaging them onto wood, chipboard, or layered cardboard.
Make paper mache diety art/statues out of newspaper.
Learn more about crafting with scraps, packaging materials, old magazines, etc. (There's many videos on YouTube!)
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audible-smiles · 5 months
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eating salmon: an explanation
lox: thin cuts of salmon (traditionally the fatty belly meat) dry cured with salt, but not smoked. this results in a delicate texture and a very salty taste. lox originated in Scandinavia as a method of preserving fish prior to refrigeration, but the American English word is derived from Yiddish because Jewish delis in New York first popularized it as a bagel topping. since lox is a type of uncooked fish, it is not recommended for pregnant people, immunocompromised people, or seniors, due to the risk of contamination with listeria.
cold-smoked salmon: thin cuts of salmon brined (with less salt than lox) and then smoked below 90 degrees Fahrenheit. results in the same silky texture but a milder, more palatable taste. often called "Nova lox", referring to Nova Scotia but denoting a method of preparation rather than the fish's origin. this is usually what modern Americans are referring to when they use the term "lox". cold-smoking reduces but does not eliminate the risk of listeria.
hot-smoked salmon: salmon brined quickly and then smoked above 120 degrees Fahrenheit. results in a flaky, jerky-liked texture, a hard shiny surface, and a smoky flavor. (as a West-coaster, this is my preferred style!) hot-smoking eliminates listeria during the cooking process, but salmon can be recontaminated during the processing/packaging process if the facility is not sanitary. (really, this is true of all foods- vegetables, dairy products, etc).
salmon candy: a traditional Pacific Northwest hot-smoked salmon recipe where the brine is sweetened with brown sugar, and the smoked fish is glazed with a sauce containing birch or maple syrup.
salmon jerky: cured salmon hot-smoked for longer than usual or processed in a dehydrator until it is tough and chewy.
gravlax: a traditional Scandinavian raw salmon recipe where the brine contains sugar and dill. historically buried in the ground and lightly fermented. sometimes it is still pressed to give it a dense texture.
kippered salmon: thicker cuts of brined salmon hot-smoked above 150 degrees Fahrenheit. results in a texture similar to baked salmon.
salmon sushi/sashimi: completely raw fresh salmon. this didn't exist in traditional Japanese cuisine, where salmon was always cooked, possibly because the local wild salmon had a high burden of parasitic worms (anasakis nematodes). Norwegian fish sellers convinced them to try farmed Atlantic salmon raw in the 80s, and it really took off.
poached salmon: salmon cooked on the stove while submerged in liquid (often white wine with lemon). results in a moist, soft, cooked fish with a pale color. can be bland without sauce.
baked salmon: salmon cooked in an oven, often wrapped in aluminum foil with seasonings to retain moisture and flavor. can result in perfect, flaky fish (as long as you don't overcook it).
dishwasher salmon: look, sometimes white people wrap salmon in aluminum foil like they're going to bake it and then poach it in their dishwasher instead. this can work but is stupid because the temperature dishwashers run at isn't standardized, so you have control over the process and it's easy to over or undercook.
pan-fried salmon: salmon cooked in oil on a stovetop. I've never done this and frankly it sounds wrong, but I bet it makes the skin crunchy.
broiled salmon: salmon cooked under a broiler. as with all broiled foods, you will have to stare at it the whole time or it will burn to a crisp while your back is turned. results in a caramelized exterior.
grilled salmon: to grill salmon people often put it on a Western redcedar plank pre-soaked in water, which supposedly infuses the salmon with a smoky, aromatic flavor while it cooks. I've seen the technique variously credited to the Haida, the Salish, and the Chinook. it seems to be a modern variation of the traditional "salmon on a stick" style of slow-cooking salmon by spearing it on branches and leaning it over the coals of an above-ground pit fire.
deep-fried salmon: this sounds absolutely awful but I simply cannot stop thinking about it
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pt V good omens S1E1 summarised but i understood nothing but the queer
this is me back to summarising because if i think too hard about crowley and aziraphale watching each other i'll break down and i've only watched three episodes what does this say about me
without further ado, good omens episode one:
It opens with narration by God who is morally grey and tells us Earth is a libra. I see tarot cards. It could be a hallucination.
Cut to the garden of Eden. Crowley is a snake. I assume Adam and Eve ate the apples, but I am too busy looking at David Tennant.
They talk and say important things, but I am too busy looking at Michael Sheen. Aziraphale gives fire to the humans and adopts the gaslight gatekeep girlboss method of explaining it to Crowley and the folks at heaven.
Heaven consists of uncomfortable close-ups. I hear nothing they say any time a scene is set in heaven because I am counting skin cells on the angels. They like Sound of Music. I am growing to hate Sound of Music. Thanks, heaven.
Cut to modern day but not the present, 11 years ago. Zombies emerge from the ground, but they are not zombies, not yet. One of them looks like a dead blobfish. His face decomposes later.
Not-yet-zombies hand the Antichrist baby to Crowley, who catwalks through the graveyard with the basket swinging on his hand.
God starts talking about the ol' switcheroo, intercut with an American politician who loves the Y chromosome, as one does.
There are Satanic nuns, and they are bad at their job, but they really like toes. Not in a sexual way. We think. We hope.
There is a lot of baby switching and inaccurate wink interpretations. I understand nothing. It is fine. The plot is unimportant.
The Antichrist does not raise tropical fish. An easy mistake to make.
Crowley and Aziraphale try to balance the Satanic tendencies of their adoptive son Warlock, who is not the Antichrist. Crowley serves us more gender as she becomes the nanny. Aziraphale is the gardener. I hope it is not him. I hope it is someone else.
I hope in vain. It is him. It is always him.
They raise not-Antichrist for eleven years.
A scheduled dog delivery from hell does not arrive on time, which makes Crowley and Aziraphale realise they did not raise the Antichrist. Contrary to sensible interpretation, this is not good. They abandon their adoptive son, which is normal.
Cut to the Antichrist, whom I immediately want to adopt. There are friends, and I am told they are important, but all I know is Brian is just Brian and the others are foils for the horsemen of the apocalypse.
There is an apocalypse upcoming. I do not realise it until this point.
The Satanic dog delivery arrives as scheduled to the Antichrist, and becomes a puppy. The Antichrist, with boundless creativity, names the Satanic dog delivery Dog. I continue to love him.
Contrary to sensible interpretation, this is not good. The Antichrist naming the Satanic dog delivery Dog is such a tragic blow to the world of scientific nomenclature that the apocalypse is now set into motion.
The end.
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thedevilrisen · 4 months
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Prompt Celly - Day Three
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Trevor Zegras x Y/N
Description: "Is now a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic?" ... "god, here -hold my hand"
A/N: I hope you enjoy! Would be greatly appreciated if you could reblog. I love talking to people so say 'Hi' if you want to. Feel Free to send in requests as well. I'm happy to write for most hockey players.
Warnings: None, I don't think! It should be all fluff and a bit of friendly banter.
-Sincerely thedevilrisen.
"I wasn't being mean-"
"MEAN! TREVOR, you put slime on Jamie's head to wake him up! What part about that isn't mean."
"I-well." he stuttered, smiling.
"How would you feel if I put slime in your hair huh! How 'bout it?" I said smugly, pushing open the door to the apartment block's lobby, sighing at the warmth and holding open the door for my boyfriend of close to 3 years now. We met shortly after he moved to California to play hockey.
Shucking off my waterproof jacket with a sound similar to two pieces sandpaper grinding against each other I draped it over my arm as Trevor walked through the open door behind me, waiting politely so I could straighten out my t-shirt.
Looking up and smiling at him, I offered him my upturned palm which he playfully grabbed and swung around as he pulled me closer so I stood comfortably under his arm.
"All good?" he asked looking down on my small frame.
"All good!" I repeated stretching the 'l' sound in all enthusiastically.
"Ok then, c'mon let's get upstairs I'm starving." he dragged as we started walking toward the elevators.
"What are you going to about that then?" I smiled, nudging his shoulder playfully.
"I'm hoping my beautiful girlfriend will cook me something delicious." He spoke cheekily looking down at me as we approached the lift panel. Pressing the up button and waiting for the lift to come.
The elevator on the left chimed and the doors rolled open smoothly. We walked in onto carpeted floor, I scanned to tag and pressed the button for the 10th floor listening to the methodical beeps and watching the numbers change.
Until with a jolt, the lift stop suddenly and the all the lights but the ones illuminating the buttons cut.
"Trevor. What happened." I tried to ask without a waver in my voice.
"I think the lift just broke." He mumbled, pulling up the flashlight on his phone and clicking the open door button to no avail. "That doesn't work." He spoke quietly to himself walking to the doors, pocketing his phone and trying to pry open the door with his finger. Grunting softly from exertion he turned back to me and look at my tear filled eyes in the dim light emitted from the panel of numbers.
"Is now a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic." I whispered, voice wavering significantly more than I wanted it to.
"I-maybe." He spoke quickly, seeing the water in my eyes start to trickle down my cheek, "god, here- hold my hand." he offered said hand to me and with both of mine gripped onto it for dear life.
"It's all good sweetheart. I'll call Jamie and he can come get us out." He spoke gently. To terrified to speak I just nodded, still gripping his left hand. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and opened opened his contacts, hitting Jamie's name and putting it up to his ear.
"Hey Mate, uhm." with a jolt, and a squeal from me, the lift fired back up and continued its journey up to our floor. "Oh, uh never mind. Can I call you back.. thanks, alright talk later bud."
When the doors opened I tore out of the lift and down the hallway to out apartment, fishing the keys out of my pocket I jammed them into the lock.
Slamming the door open I threw my coat off, kicked off my shoes and moved quickly to the living room sofa where my weighted animal was. With a vice grip on the stuffy and a few deep breaths I locked eyes with a concerned looking Trevor and deadpanned.
"We are taking the stairs from now on."
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the-witchhunter · 2 months
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Apples in Caramel Bourbon Sauce
Want a delicious dessert? Want to up your game? Why not both? This recipe once literally got me laid, it’s that damn good, so use at your own discretion
Or not, I’m not your mother
Ingredients:
2 apples (gala or honeycrisp recommended)
1/2 cup - 3/4 cup sugar (depend on size of apples and thus the amount of sauce needed)
4 tablespoons butter (I use salted, if using unsalted I recommend a pinch of salt on the final step)
“A splash” of bourbon (couple tablespoons to a 1/4 cup)
1) core and cut apples. Peeling is optional. Smaller pieces will cook faster so I prefer cutting into 1/8 slices and cutting those slices I half, but theoretically you could just cut the apples in half. Just make them roughly the same size
2) have all your ingredients on hand. Seems silly to make this its own step? If you have to hunt down during the next step you risk burning and starting it over. Just have your stuff ready
3) in a dry frying pan, add sugar and heat on medium. DO NOT WALK AWAY! Heat until sugar is melted and caramelized. It’ll start to darken and at this stage it can go from perfect to burnt very quickly. Stir with wooden spoon if needed to prevent burning but it’ll likely clump. Just break up clumps and it’ll melt when it’s hot enough.
4) add the butter and stir to combine. At this point it’s a very rudimentary caramel sauce.
5) add apple. It’ll likely seem too thick and not coat the apples immediately but just let them cook, stirring occasionally until apples are tender. How long? Depends how big you made your apple chunks. Sauce will get thinner as it pulls out moisture from the apples 
6) fish out cooked apples once tender and set aside
7) reduce sauce for a minute or two
8) add splash of bourbon (not from the bottle directly) and cook until harsh alcohol taste is cooked off
Serve by itself or the recommended method of over a scoop of vanilla ice cream, still warm
Makes 2-4 servings
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basu-shokikita · 5 months
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Thinking about Toki's character arc in Metalocalypse...
Now that Metalocalypse is officially over, or so it seems, I wanted to go over what Army of the Doomstar means for Toki's growth.
Warnings for spoilers for, well, the entirety of Metalocalypse.
So, over the course of the show, we see Toki repeatedly trying (and failing) to form a meaningful bond with several living beings, people and animals included.
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Analysis under the cut ⬇️
Season 1
It starts with a dying little girl called Juliette Sarmangsadandle in Dethkids (S1E16). Toki is upset over being misunderstood aka his public image being associated with kids and vehemently fights the idea by adopting an edgy personality.
When he watches Juliette's video, about being a child that longs for violence, it speaks to him and his childhood. Toki feels seen by this little girl and imagines his child self singing with her.
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Sadly, when he goes out to meet her, she's already dead. Here goes Toki's first attempt at connection, utterly butchered.
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In the following episode, we're introduced to Rockzo in Dethclown (S1E17). Toki brings his clown friend over and everyone pretty much almost instantly dislikes him. Not to mention Rockzo tries to betray Dethklok for drugs. Still, he sticks around for the remainder of the show as Toki's friend.
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Though it's important to mention how much of that friendship involves Rockzo abusing Toki's kindness and generally being a shitty person. He's not exactly someone Toki can rely on.
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It is not that significant but I'd also like to give a shout out to Dethwater (S1E02), where Toki is locked in an oxygen chamber and sings to the fishes and creatures in the sea. It's an early episode, but already portrays Toki's friendly nature and colorful life outlook.
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Season 2
In season 2, we have Dethlessons (S2E02). After having a disagreement with Skwisgaar's teaching method, Toki meets Dimneld Selftcark. Though initially wanting him as guitar teacher, it's clear Toki doesn't actually intend to perfect his craft and more than anything appreciates his company. Toki even refers to him as 'a father friend'.
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However, as luck would have it, Selftcark is ill and dies in Toki's arms after Toki gave his first recital.
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Then there's Dethdad (S2E15), where Toki learns that his dad is dying of cancer. Toki is very much visibly affected by his parents' abuse towards him, though he still decides to pay his father a visit. When Toki finally gains the courage to see him and bond one last time, his father requests to see the cottage he was born at before dying.
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Unfortunately, Toki steps and slips on his way there, dropping his father into the ice. Toki watches his father die and is unable to do anything about it.
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This boy is really just collecting traumas all the way, huh?
Season 3
Dethhealth (S3E03) has Toki adopting a cat he found at a concert. Although he is not the best caretaker of the animal, Toki is very obviously fond of his new pet.
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But, of course, the cat was dying, solving the mystery of who was the person dying within Dethklok. Toki is so devastated that he faints and then proceeds to have an elaborate dream sequence for closure.
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Fertilityklok comes three episodes later (S3E06) and we find a Toki jaded with casual sex encounters. He decides he wants to meet a partner whom he can have children with. Though initially facing Dethklok's indignation, Toki goes forward with the idea and lands in a dating agency.
They find the perfect partner for Toki but nothing ever goes well with this guy and the lady in question disappoints Toki both in looks and personality. To make things worse, the agency wants to force him in a relationship with her and for Toki to impregnate her, even.
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Toki manages to escape the whole charade and decides he's better off with sluts. This one is not so tragic as much as it's just another total failure at forming the connection Toki so desperately craves.
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Season 4
Diversityklok (S4E04) and Bookklok (S4E05) feature Toki's interpersonal problems within the band so I figured they were mentioning as well.
In Diversityklok, Toki complains about feeling constantly left out by the band, so he forms a 'special persons invite club' to gain agency over his friends. He still ends up being forgotten by them at the end of the episode.
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In Bookklok, Toki has a fallout with Skwisgaar after being denied a solo and writes a book denouncing his behavior towards him. In modern lingo, he essentially cancelled Skwisgaar. He fails to consistently maintain the fans' approval as he flunks the solo he so desperately wanted. His fight with Skwisgaar is not resolved (at least, not on screen).
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Finally we get to Dethcamp (S4E07), where Toki's erratic behavior conflates with the mainline plot. In the search for friends, Toki goes to the Rock-a-Rooni Fantasy Camp, where he's almost killed by one of the campers. He's saved by Dethklok's former rhythm guitarist, Magnus Hammersmith and they subsequently become friends.
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Good ending? No, Magnus stabs and kidnaps Toki over Roy Cornickleson's funeral, his fate being unknown as the season ends.
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Doomstar Requiem
We finally learn how Toki joined the band. He showed up late to Dethklok's auditions and had a guitar duel with Skwisgaar, where he eventually lost. Defeated, he was abandoning the premises when Skwisgaar says that nobody made him play as well as Toki did, inviting him to join the band.
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From then on, it's all rainbows and happiness for Toki as his life finally takes a turn for the better. He has found a family and a home. He loves his brothers and his life. Current Toki is on the brink of death and thinking about Dethklok is his only solace.
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I might be biased in saying this but the sequence from 'I Believe' feels like the peak of the movie, and I don't think this is incidental.
While Toki is rescued at the end of the movie, we don't get to see a proper reunion.
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Army of the Doomstar
Cut to 10 years later, Army of the Doomstar releases and while the plot is much about the end of the world, we get to see post-DSR Toki.
First of all, at the start of AOTD it is stated that Toki (as well as the rest of the band besides Nathan) has forgotten about what happened during Doomstar Requiem. However, his attitude towards the band is very loving, stating he's happy to be back with them.
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He's especially fond towards Skwisgaar, attempting to hug him multiple times, worrying and being generally attentive of him. Toki shows both verbal and physical affection towards Skwisgaar over the course of the movie, finalizing in the bridal carry during the before last scene. Compared to the show, it's a huge contrast to their relationship, where Skwisgaar and Toki behaved as rivals, with Toki feeling simultaneously admiration and envy towards Skwisgaar.
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But what are you trying to say with all of this, Basu? Well, essentially it's the following:
At some point, Toki started feeling neglected by the band and began seeking love from outside sources. The childhood companion he never had (Juliette), a father figure (Selftcark), his actual father, a pet, a girlfriend and finally...an actual friend he could rely on (Magnus). All of the aforementioned failed, eventually landing him in an even worst situation where he started.
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However, being stuck there, wounded, malnourished and dying is what reminded him of the best time of his life. Of the people most important to him. And even if those memories were seemingly gone, the feeling prevailed.
Sure, Dethklok is massively flawed and there's lot of work they have to do with regards to interpersonal relationships, but they're his family and his life. Perhaps the lifestyle or his need for ego/power (Skwisgaar plays a big hand in this) made him forget about it for a second, but he knows it now. He doesn't need to look for love from strangers, he already has it in them. They're everything he's always wanted and he's going to cherish them for the rest of his life.
And if you're wondering why the special emphasis on Skwisgaar, my theory has to do with the age regressing that was confirmed in the movie. While it mostly happened over the Ishnifus funeral, I think Toki has generally gone back to the emotional state he was in when he joined Dethklok. A young, easily impressionable man happy to finally have found a family.
Which means he holds Skwisgaar in special regard, considering he is the guy that accepted him into the band. Not Nathan, Pickles or Murderface, it was Skwisgaar.
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You could almost say that Toki might view Skwisgaar as his hero, given that he is the reason Toki has everything he has right now. So I think Toki's gratefulness is expressing in that almost overwhelming affection. Just like Toki's not going to let himself forget his feelings for the band, he's not going to let them forget about his feelings, either. It might not be easy, but Toki's priorities are clear now. His heart is with Dethklok.
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In short, even if Army of the Doomstar didn't address Toki's issues the way we would've wanted, it's still a happy outcome for him and I fully believe he'll have more than enough to work on them. Metalocalypse is, at its core, a story about found family. This is specially true for Toki.
So, I really believe that Toki is eventually going to heal and be happy with the band. :)
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seeingivy · 7 months
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sick with sadness
actor eren x f!reader
**part of my method acting fic
content: mentions of depression/anxiety, getting taken advantage of, pure sadness NO happy in this chapter
an: I am alive. I am convinced I have some underlying chronic disease or illness going on with the way the past three weeks have gone, but I am alive. we are all going to close our eyes and read this chapter and then move on.
previous chapter
--
Eren’s tenth birthday is the first time he feels it. 
He sits on the spiral staircase to watch the crowd roar on outside, well past the normal time he’d be asleep. He can feel the tiredness sitting in his eyes, the stuffy, starched suit his mom forced him to wear digging into his neck. There’s a mix of blue, green, and yellow confetti littered on the floor, a sticky grime to the usual pristine house his mom’s meticulousness affords - and he hates it. 
From his vantage point, he can see every corner of the party, the expansive glass doors letting him catch every person laughing, enjoying, swinging to the beat of the music. Armin and Bertholdt are pouring salt into Historia and Annie’s drinks while they use the bathroom, Sasha and Jean are being way too aggressive with the pinata, and Mikasa’s braiding a little flower crown for a very smiley Marco. 
His parents' friends, people whose movies he’s spent years watching when he grew up, studied when he was at the SHWA are on the right side of the lot, sparkling dresses getting ruined by the mud in the backyard and their expensive jewelry discarded on the tables. 
And all Eren can do is watch. Whatever it is, the block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - it’s gluing him down to the seat, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 
If souls were real, his would be hundreds, thousands of miles away - detached from his real body. 
He hears a loud pounding and turns his neck to find Ymir and Reiner poking the little aquarium to the left of the staircase. The fish he picked out with Zeke on his last birthday, the picture perfect day of quiet solitude, are frantically swimming around the tank.
He watches the two of them, their inquisitive eyes laughing as the fish duck around the tank after each respective smack. The lights flicker every time Ymir pounds her closed fist against the glass, the sound so loud that it smacks against the wall behind it. 
And suddenly, the sound, that sound, is all too loud, so jarring that before he knows it there’s thick tears pouring out of his eyes and his voice is getting all tangled in his chest. He’s not sure how he got there, but suddenly he’s standing up, freed from the stairs, and yelling at the two of them. 
“Stop smacking against the glass, Ymir! They don’t like that.” 
Ymir looks over, a confused and almost bored look on her face. Reiner's eyes, he's so puzzled, only make his skin burn more. Reiner’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him. 
Is there something wrong with him?
“It’s just a fish, Eren. They don’t even care.” Ymir says, bending back over to focus her eyes on the glass. 
“They do care! Every time you punch the glass they swim away because they’re scared.” Eren says, his chest heaving too hard, his mind not catching fast enough to stop it. 
Reiner and Ymir shrug as they walk away, the two of them giving Eren pitchy awkward smiles as they each squeeze his shoulder once. And when they’re finally out of their vantage point, the tears are only hotter, faster, scalding hot as he stares at the fish in their little cave, instead of swimming freely in the tank. 
The fish, long gone, are always what come back to Eren when the feeling returns. 
When the sadness takes residence in his chest.
--
“Sorry…line?” Eren says, giving an awkward smile to the director as he turns his neck to the right. 
The director, David Lance, rolls his eyes as he cuts filming on the scene, very aggressively calling for lunch. Eren feels his throat sink into his chest, the regret settling in regardless, as he watches him angrily storm off, the cast and the crew awkwardly shuffle behind him. 
He should have spent longer memorizing his lines. Or at least reviewed them this morning. Eren shuffles his feet to the coffee cart as he starts apologizing to the cast and crew, who are all but kind to him about his performance. Truly, his only saving grace in the personal hell that he’s living in.
Deep down, Eren knew that whatever he worked on next, wod never compare to the work that he did on Attack on Titan. Getting to work with his biggest role models, all of the people he grew up with, the girl he was in love with right across the door from him - it was virtually impossible for anything to shape up. 
He just didn’t realize it would be this fucking bleak on the other side. 
The plot of Satellite Port is mediocre at best. Another cheesy astronaut movie, clearly trying to catapult off the success of the feature film that won best picture last year. A half-assed director - who can’t even fucking direct - and maybe the stupidest dialogue he’s ever seen in his life. 
Eren’s a good actor. But even he can’t fix this. 
And he’s had enough when he hears an irritated sigh behind him and turns around to find Gianna de Anola, his prissy co-star, glaring at him. An ice-cold supermodel, Gianna’s making her break onto the acting front, trying to fall in the footsteps of her world-famous triple threat mother. 
“You know, maybe if you didn’t stay up jerking off, we’d actually be able to finish this movie on time.” she says, slouching down in her chair as her assistant brings her lunch to her side. 
If Eren could, he’s strangle her assistant every time he walked over. And then her for good measure too. 
“I wasn’t jerking off.” Eren mutters, grabbing his script from the table as he flips to the end of the pages. His lines are all highlighted and he can feel his frustration growing even deeper as he remembers he spent two hours doing this scene yesterday. 
“You want to know something embarrassing, Eren?” Gianna says, twisting the straw in her soda can with her perfectly manicured fingers. 
From the look on her face, Eren already knows. She’s going to say something that’s going to ruin his whole day. 
“Please, Gianna. I’m dying of fucking curiosity over here.” 
“You spend all your time watching your little pop-star girlfriend perform on her world tour. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sacrifice the movie you’re working on, probably text her good luck before every show of hers and I’ll give you twenty bucks she won’t even come to your premiere.” 
“She’s not my girlfriend.” 
Eren drops his script on to his lap, his ears burning with irritation, at idiots like Gianna. The picture perfect image of nepotism.
Eren’s not trying to be hypocritical. He knows that his parents are famous actors, his brothers at the top of the industry, which sets him out to be a premier face in the industry. But Gianna is a whole different breed. 
Because Eren’s trying. He- he has a reason for wanting to do this. There’s a difference between him and her. 
There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s enthralled with the job he gets to do. That encourages, cherishes, deeply acknowledges that what he gets to do is a privilege. 
Eren is making art. He gets to tell stories about people's lives and take every broken part of him and make it into something great. He can pour every negative, disgusting, boring, happy, ecstatic moment he’s ever had into a scene to make it something better. 
Have someone watching his work at home feel seen, have their chest stir and their eyes water because someone out there feels the same thing he does. Make people feel nostalgic, excited, sad - to feel the feelings with him. To be with him from the beginning of the story till the end, to be excited about what he has to say and what he has to do. 
Eren’s parents are famous. And by definition, so is he. But there’s a part of him, deep down, that wants to prove himself. Show that he has feelings, emotions, something to share with people that’s true, authentic - and not just because it was what he was meant to do. 
And he knows that’s not the case here. 
She’s a specific type. Part of the clear cut, mindless army of people with famous parents - living, thriving off what gets them attention next. It makes Eren sick, makes his stomach turn over in circles and circles until he’s churning with anger. So angry, so negative that it makes his skin itch like he’s covered in dirt. 
He looks over at Gianna, a smirk pressed on her perfectly airbrushed face from the makeup team, and he can’t help but feel the burning in his chest sink lower and lower until it’s replaced with ice cold. A hollow wind, rustling through trees.  
It’s because he knows Gianna is right. And that if an idiot like her can catch onto it, it won’t be fast until everyone else follows, until he’s the radio clown in the papers next week. 
Because despite your best efforts, Eren knows deep down that she’s right. 
You won’t be coming to his premiere. You’re above it. 
--
Eren swirls the fizzy drink in his hand as he leans against the wall, eyes focused on every person and almost no one in the room at the same time. And he’s trying to push that feeling down, the block in his chest, as he tries to memorize all the faces here, everyone celebrating in front of him. 
He’ll remember this moment as the sweetest one. When he can finally say goodbye to this godforsaken movie. He feels a smack on his shoulder and a sudden flash in his eyes, all his senses bombarded all of a sudden. 
“TMZ! TMZ! TMZ!” 
“Connie. Would it kill you to be quiet for maybe like five minutes?” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes as he shoves Connie to the side. 
Eren finds Connie, Jean, Armin, and Marco in his periphery, the three of them smiling big at him. Connie and Jean have clearly already had too much to drink - from the way their ties are loosened against their necks and the pink tints on their cheeks. 
And from the way they’re currently trying to wrestle each other at his wrap party. 
“Do you ever think about that? Armin is literally like paparazzi with that fucking polaroid camera. He’s been a little bitch like that since he was fifteen.” Connie says, squishing Armin’s cheek, as Armin frantically tries to swat him off. 
“Like you’re any better, Connie. You’ve been doing the same thing to Eren and Y/N since like the first day of filming.” Marco responds, taking the spot next to Eren, giving him a smile. 
“See but. That was me helping a brother get it. I got so tired of seeing his little horny, wimpy eyes I just had to help him out.” Connie responds, snickering with Jean.
“Oh my god. Connie look, it’s that girl from Death Note.” Eren says, pointing in an ambiguous mention. 
Connie’s so frazzled by the mere mention of her - and the alcohol in his system surely can’t help - that he’s dragging Jean to the other side of the room where Eren pointed, the two of them creating a mess of knocking things over as he leaves. 
In another life, and probably in this one too, Eren thinks that Connie was raised in a barn. 
Armin and Marco lean against the wall with Eren, the three of them staring across the room together now. After six months of pure torture - the most irritating director known to man, the biggest diva as his co-star, and the sweltering heat of Tampa, Florida - Eren’s finally been freed from the godforsaken Satellite Port movie. 
The day he’s been looking forward to, since he started all this, is finally at his front door and he can’t be more than relieved. He gets to hear the ratings for the movie at the end of the party, celebrate with his friends, and finally see you after seven months. 
And stick it to Gianna di Anola’s face that you still love him. Granted, she doesn’t know that you two are actually dating or that you even love each other - no one does besides your friends - but he can still have the satisfaction. Of imaging her stupid face pursed up in irritation at being wrong. That he has something she doesn’t. 
“Can I say something you potentially might not like?” Armin says, tucking the polaroid he just took - the tops of Connie and Jean’s eyes and a very confused looking Eren in the back - into his coat as he leans back. 
“Sure.” Eren responds. 
“I really hate your co-star. She- she’s so annoying.” Armin responds, sighing. 
Eren laughs as he pats Armin on the shoulder, amused that Armin thought something like that could offend him. 
“Imagine working with her for six months.” Eren deadpans, eliciting laughs from both Armin and Marco. 
The feeling - the overwhelming, all consuming wave of panic - is subsiding in his chest as Marco laughs at his side, the three of them nitpicking everyone in the room to pass the time. No one’s safe from the three of them - every stuck up friend of Gianna’s, the coattail hanging out of David’s outfit, and the godforsaken designer - they're not safe from the three of them
“David Lance has a stick up his ass and that’s what he used to write that dogshit script.” Eren says, his face hurting from smiling. 
“And the best part? Gianna di Anola thinks the script is amazing because she can’t even read it.” 
Armin, Marco, and Eren turn their heads to find Sukuna at their side, a devious smirk pressed onto his lips. They all laugh as Sukuna slides against the wall next to Eren, taking the glass from his hands, and downing the last of the liquid. He makes a weird face as he swallows, turning to Eren.
“Are you drinking apple cider?” 
“I don’t like to drink.” Eren responds. 
Sukuna gives him a polite nod before rolling his eyes, his glare focused toward the front door. Hyla Clarkson - the girl that Sukuna has publicly been feuding with for the past few months - just entered, pressing kisses to Gianna and her family. 
All he knows is that if he tallied up every time Hyla and Sukuna argued and fought, she would win - by a longshot. Sukuna’s still blacklisted from getting hired by certain studios - a fact he only knows because he only ever took Satellite Port because Sukuna was supposed to be there with him. It was a rude surprise when he showed up and got left to fend for himself. 
“So are you on again or off again?” Armin asks. 
“On. But- I. I don’t know - they’ve got this way of sucking you in.” he responds. 
“Wasn’t she dating that model last week? What’s his name again, something-” Marco starts. 
“No. You know how tabloids are, they-they’re always on some shit.” Sukuna responds. 
Eren puts a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and squeezes, pushing even further. 
“So did they photoshop that picture of them kissing or-?” Eren says, a teasing tone in his voice. 
“She was just trying to piss me off, it-it’s all part of the chase. Plus, you should know of all people, Eren. You’re telling me everything that the tabloids write about Ricky and Y/N is true?” 
Eren lets go, his throat dry at the mention of it. He can feel his knuckles turning white against the empty glass Sukuna handed back to him, Marco and Armin finishing off the conversation for him. Eren’s too busy seeing red to even pay attention, at the thought of Ricky James. 
Eren's never met Ricky James. But he knows far too much. He’s read every Wikipedia page, scoured every tabloid, fan page, supporting comment, Reddit thread about him. 
One of the worst parts of being famous? People can comment, theorize, and speculate about every aspect of your life. Even worse? That there’s a breadth of information to pit yourself against, to pinpoint all the perfections and none of the flaws for his self-imagined competition.
And Eren hates to think that way, to take the words of teenage girls and tabloid writers to heart, but there’s a small part of him that feels sick from the entire ordeal. Because everyone thinks Ricky James is better for you than him. 
He’s a twenty year old singer-songwriter from a small town in New York, who's recently been breaking into the acting scene. Like you, he’s one of the few premiere actors who has pulled in the industry who doesn’t come from a famous family. And like you, he’s charming and mesmerizing - beloved by the people. 
And ever since you both got cast in Little Women together - him as Laurie and you as Amy - and the press tours started all people can do is talk. And Eren, every self-preservationist thread of him gone - can only listen. Watch fans edit videos of you two being cute together for ten minutes, listen to podcasts where the two of you gush about each other's talents, see that Ricky was able to get time off in his schedule to go to your tour when Eren was stuck on Satellite Port. 
It fills him with rage. And it makes him feel less than. And every time Eren tries to shut the voice in him down, to convince himself that it’s not true and that you’re still at your best, he comes out short. Granted, a personal affliction for negative thoughts is easier to shut out. To convince himself that he’s making it up. Seventy thousand people affirming his worst fears makes it harder. 
“Wasn’t it their fault you got fired from the ensemble of Last Voyage? And Satellite Port?” Armin asks, remembering the tabloid blast from the past few months. 
“Yeah, well not her but the people around her. Her dad especially - they have so much pull, it’s insane. And-and they play mind games and shit, I couldn’t even tell you the half of it. It’s-” 
Right on cue, Hyla walks up to the four of them, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She’s wearing a long, willowing green gown and watches her stick her hand out for Sukuna. And Eren’s floored when he watches Sukuna purse his lip and give a polite excuse me as she whisks him away, leaving the three of them on the wall. 
Armin gets pulled off the wall by Connie and Jean who have returned with Misa, who is apparently a really big fan of Armin’s. And by how pink Connie is, giggling like there’s no tomorrow, Eren knows it's better to stay away from him to avoid any chance of second hand embarrassment. 
“I always miss this.” Marco says, a soft smile on his face. 
“Connie being a dumbass?” Eren asks.. 
“I mean, not particularly that, but all of us being together. It feels weird to be so far away from everyone when we’re all doing things so different.” Marco responds. 
Eren knows Marco far too well to be doing this. 
“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, Marco.” Eren asks, narrowing his eyes at him. 
“That’s my job.” 
Eren and Marco turn their necks to find Historia in a pale blue dress, a soft smile on her face. They both rush forward and immediately wrap their arms around her, both taking a second to press a kiss to her cheek. 
“So what are we psychoanalyzing Eren about, Marco?” Historia asks, the two of them giving teasing smiles. 
“Nothing. We’re not psychoanalyzing me about anything. I’m fine.” 
“Y/N. Ricky James. Everyone being so far away, but her specifically.” Marco responds. 
Historia pinches her mouth into a straight line, the look in her eyes making Eren feel like a scolded child. If it was a different person, Eren would feel pitied. By both of them. But he knows them both far too well to know they’re the few people in his arsenal who would fight for him. 
“Ricky James. Huh? Seems like an asshole a little bit.” Historia states, swiping two ice cream cups off the tray. She hands the extra to Eren, leaning towards Marco as they share the other.
“You’re just saying that because you feel loyalty to me, Hisu. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and Y/N seems to like him.” Eren responds, his chest feeling like an anvil all of a sudden. 
Historia frowns as she turns to his side, her eyebrows knit together in frustration. 
“Yeah. I don’t like him because I feel loyalty to you, Eren. But I also don’t like him because he was friends with John.” 
Marco and Eren both clear their throats and swallow hard at the mention, the regret sitting in Eren’s chest for even saying that in the first place. On instinct, Eren wraps his arm around Historia’s shoulder, Marco following suit as they both rest their heads against hers. She sighs at the touch, squeezing both of their shoulders in response. 
Mentioning John is basically like saying the devils’ name for Historia. The music producer that she had been working with since she was seventeen and the one who all but pounced on her the second she turned eighteen. Eren thinks it’s disgusting that the same thing happened basicallly happened. Levi told him that he has forewarned him.
The two of them had made so many hit songs together, he’d basically helped Historia start her music career. When they got together that no one batted an eye. They were charming and celebrated - ignoring the fact that Historia was only nineteen and John was in his thirties. That Historia looked awkward and uncomfortable near him. 
Everything came crashing down a year ago when Historia got dumped, for lack of a better word, on the side of the street and left to a swarm of paparazzi after an argument she had with him. Ymir and Sasha were the ones who got to her the fastest, ducking her into a car, and hiding her for the time being. 
But in true Historia fashion, she was never one to be quiet. She wrote Dear John. Made art out of her pain, something Eren could only admire and love her for. Her effortless way of bouncing back, of jumping straight back into what hurt her for the sake of art was something only Eren could dream of possessing.
Something he envied when everything weighed so heavy on his mind. 
“I’d kill him if he did anything like that to her.” Eren states. 
“I’d help you.” Historia responds. 
“Speaking of, I haven’t talked to her in a while. Is she taking breaks with the tour and movie and all?” Marco asks. 
“She doesn’t take breaks. From the way she’s going, I don’t think she’ll stop till she gets what she wants. Which, you need that type of drive to do this. To get what she wants.” 
Historia brings her hand up to Eren’s shoulder again, squeezing. 
“Eren. When was the last time you talked to her?” 
“It’s-it’s been a while with the time differences. When she’s not performing, she’s writing. And when she’s done writing, she’s practicing lines. There’s not really any time for that and I’m not going to be the one to pull her back when she’s in the zone and-” 
“Eren. I’m sorry.” Historia says, her voice borderline pleading. 
“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal-” 
“Do you know how rare it is to have what you do? It’s insane that two people can even like each other at the same time but to be in love, so fully and unselfishly, you-you can’t let that get away from you.” Historia says, her eyes turning red and her voice getting louder as she goes on. 
“Hisu. I-” 
“We’re seeing her next week for the awards and your birthday. Just-just tell her, okay? I’ll kill you if you let something like this pass you by. Or I’ll haunt you from my grave if I’m dead.” Historia says. 
“You sound like me.” Marco says, giving her a teasing smile. 
“Shut up, Marco.” she responds. 
Eren leans into their touch, their limbs all still tangled together, as he sighs into the air, trying to focus on the good. That they’re here with him, even if you can’t be. And that'll be you instead of them in a week. 
It doesn’t work. The sadness still creeps in. 
--
Eren closes out all the tabs of his laptop as he sees your picture flash against his screen, accompanied by his ringtone. He slides the video call open, the mere sight of you making his heart ache. 
“Hi Eren.” 
“Hi Y/N. Ready for your show?” 
“Eh. Almost.” 
Eren glares, narrowing his eyes at you as he waits for your laugh. You’re basically primed to perfection - your hair perfectly blown out, your sparkly silver dress pinned down, and your glittery makeup shining. 
“Okay, okay. I’m ready, I just wanted to call you.” 
Eren frowns, realizing that his shortcomings were so horrible, that they were enough to illicit a call from you when you were this busy. 
“Because I’m a failure?” 
“Eren. You’re not a failure. You-when have we ever cared what the Elms have said?” 
The Elms officially released their gold standard review of Satellite Port last night. Eren wasn’t expecting much, knowing that this was far from his best work, but the review was scathing. And the articles that followed were even worse. He’d spent all morning reading them, his chest burning and his head becoming a solid rock weighing him down with every last word. 
The worst thing that we see nowadays is a waste of talent. A true, self-actualized potential fall short. Our latest example? Attack on Titan star, Eren Jaeger. After garnering himself a total of three nominations the Institute last award season, it seems that the actor is on the come down. His work in Satellite Port was described as insanely mediocre, almost painful to watch knowing that this is the same boy who acted in the infamous Thank You scene - which garnered him his first Institute Award win. Eren is nominated for four awards at the Institute TV Awards next week - Best Actor in a Lead Role, Best Actor in a Drama Series, Best Scene, and Ensemble Cast - which will most likely be his last nominations ever with the work that he’s been putting out. We’ll see if Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman can wrangle him in place for the last season of Attack on Titan and salvage his career. 
“The things the Elms said about you and Armin back in the day were baseless. You- they just didn’t like you because of your parents. You’ve proved yourself over time and time again. I had all these things stacked up against me, there should have been no reason I failed and I did anyway.” Eren responds. 
He watches you frown on the other side of the screen as you lean forward, your eyes washed over in concern. Eren immediately feels guilty for worrying you right before you’re about to perform, trying to save face as fast as possible. 
“I’m just going to be upset about it today and I’ll be okay tomorrow, alright?” Eren asks. 
“Just today, Eren. I’ll kill you otherwise, you little bitch.” you respond, giving him your best angry look. 
Eren laughs at your profanities, which elicits a smile from you. 
“You kiss your mom with that mouth, Y/N?” 
“Mhm. And I kiss you with it too.” 
“You’re so vulgar.” 
“Wanna know something cool? Yesterday, when I was performing New Year’s Day at the start, the applause literally went on for n-” 
“Nine minutes. And then they cheered your name for another ten after you walked off for your outfit change.” Eren responds, finishing your sentence. 
“You watched?” 
“Don’t be stupid. I watch you every time you perform. I like watching you - the faces you make when you’re singing your songs and smiling at people - it’s cute. Makes it easier when I miss you so much.” 
He watches you sigh, your face contorting into a frown. 
“I miss you too. I-I’m really excited to see you next week.” 
“Me too.” 
He watches you finish off your routine - as you clip on your earrings and fiddle with the ends of the hair as your team starts moving around you, pointing at their watches to indicate that you’re going to go on soon. 
“Wanna know the stupidest thing about your tour, Y/N?” 
“There’s stupid things on my tour?” 
“Just the one.” 
“Please enlighten me, wise one.” 
“You sing New Year’s Day with a piano backtrack instead of playing the piano.” 
“What’s the point of learning how to properly play the piano when you’ll always be there to do it for me?” 
He feels his chest stirring at the words, even more when you blow him a kiss before hanging up to perform. His phone screen is left on your contact, the picture of the two of you making him smile. 
He closes out all the tabs of the reviews, replacing them with the live stream of your show as he crawls back into his bed. And when he watches you wink at the camera right before you start singing New Year’s Day with your piano backtrack, he knows its for him.
--
“Ymir. This isn’t even half convincing.” Eren says, trying to swat her hands off his covered eyes. 
“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even know what’s coming.” Ymir responds, pushing hard against his eyes as she swings him into the little foyer. 
“It’s my birthday. Almost everyone we know is in town for the award show tomorrow. None of you guys have said happy birthday to me and now you’re inconspicuously leading me somewhere with my eyes covered. Oh, I’m dying of curiosity here, Ymir.” 
“You’re no fun.” she responds, lifting her fingers off his eyes. He’s met with the sight of everyone popping confetti in his face at the same time, an excited amount of cheers filling up the air. 
Mikasa and Armin reach him first, almost everyone wrangling them in his arms and smacking him on the back. Connie offers him his first legal shot as a twenty-one year old, which Levi confiscates in three seconds. Reiner rolls his eyes as he swings a sash around Eren’s neck, which elicits an insurmountable amount of laughter from everyone.
“Mother to be?” Eren asks, reading the sparkly cursive writing on the sash. 
“They ran out of birthday sashes. And giving birth is basically adjacent to birthdays, so I figured it was the best one. It was either that or a quinceanera.” Reiner explains. 
“A quinceanera is a real birthday dumbass.” Eren responds, shoving him to the side. 
Everyone’s too overzealous and excited to hand him gifts because they’re immediately sitting him down, handing him packed boxes. Hange and Levi gift him an expensive watch, the pair of them pressing a kiss to his head, before retreating upstairs to their rooms, arms locked together and whispering in each other's ears as they go up.
Reiner and Bertholdt give him gag gifts first - which are just framed pictures of every time he’s flipped off paparazzi - before giving him his real gift, their annotated versions of the original Attack on Titan script. 
Eren’s been a big fan of Reiner’s blocking notes since they were students together at the SHWA, because Reiner clearly has no conception of what the blocking notes are actually supposed to be. Instead of writing in his own staging spots and directions from the crew, he writes his own commentary on the script. 
Eren flips to the marked page, the big reveal scene, and finds Reiner’s handwriting at the button. 
Reiner: I’m the Armored and he’s the Colossal. 
And underneath, Reiner’s inscription. 
fuck. 
He flips forward a few pages to find the Thank You Scene marked as well, his handwriting on the side. 
Eren: I’ll wrap that scarf around you, as many times as you want. 
And Bertholdt’s commentary. 
yall fucking? 
Eren snorts as he closes up the script, giving the two of them a smile, as Historia and Marco plant a gift in his lap next, skillfully packed in wrapping paper with his face on it. 
“I’m not sure if I should ruin something so perfect. I just look so good here-” 
“Eren. You’re a five on a good day.” Ymir responds, unbothered to look up from the game of soccer she was watching on the screen. 
Eren frowns as he opens up the gift, a glass showcase filled with polaroids. The first is a framed picture, one of the first of the entire cast. Underneath, Historia’s handwriting is inscribed, loopy letters spelling out Long Live. Eren smiles as he sets it to the side, observing Marco's gift. A Maya Angelou poetry book.
Eren gives the group of them a smile as he scans his eyes around the room, noticing the only face missing. The only one he was looking forward to seeing. Marco grabs his hand and drags him up the staircase, as he whispers over his shoulder. 
“She left a while ago to set up her gift for you. She should be in your room I think.” 
Eren’s nearly sprinting up the staircase as he pushes open the door, a defeated sigh leaving his lips when he stumbles in. There’s a half wrapped gift on the bed next to you, where you’re face down and fast asleep. He can see that you’re still in your party clothes - the dress and birthday hat still stuck to your head - as you nearly drool onto his sheets. 
“Nonsense, Eren. We’ll just wake her up, she was really excited to-” 
“No.” Eren responds. 
Marco swallows hard as he looks over at Eren, jaw half clenched and eyes narrowed down as he moves around him, shutting the door behind him. Eren carefully yanks the party hat and the shoes off your feet as he tucks you into the sheet properly, the tears burning his eyes. 
He takes the halfpacked gift and note from the bed, shutting the light off, as he escapes into your room to open them. To take a second, to calm whatever burning, irritating sensation is ripping his chest right now. 
The gift is a vinyl, the cover art is the same as the tattoos that you guys got together nearly two years ago. There’s a note inscribed on the front, your messy handwriting on the front. 
Eren. Our music is the best music. Here’s to many more to come :D 
He turns the vinyl over to find one song on each side - New Year’s Day on the front and Invisible String on the back. There’s a list of untitled listed underneath them, clearly meant to be future songs you and Eren write together. 
And all Eren can feel is despair. The gross, disgusting feeling that sits in his chest and never goes away is going to drag you down too. 
Isn’t it?
--
Nearly twenty four hours later and Eren’s standing on the other side of the red carpet, his palms sweaty and burning. He was supposed to walk out twenty minutes ago but his feet are glued to the foam, his throat dry. 
It always comes at the worst times. His birthday party, when he saw Zeke at Christmas, when he met Ricky James at the cocktail hour and then Gianna right after. 
Every little thing that’s been bothering Eren for the past day, the past few months is tumbling into this moment, where he’s staring at the red carpet and hearing the cameras flash behind the curtain but can’t summon his feet to move beyond them. 
Eren’s embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He’s trying. He’s trying to swallow it, trying to move his feet, to get out there to stand next to you. 
It’s humiliating. 
He feels a tap on his shoulder to find Armin at his side, readjusting the collar against his neck as he gives him a smile. 
“Hey.” 
“Hi Min.” 
“Can you do me a favor?” 
Eren tilts his head to the side as Armin gives him a smile, before turning his face back towards the curtain. 
“I hate walking on red carpets. But they’re easier when friends do them with me.” Armin responds. 
Eren sighs, a third person now catching on to him, as he stares at his shoelaces, evenly knotted against his leather shoes.
Is he that obvious? It's like it's written on his forehead.
“So, Eren?” 
“I-I don’t know if I can be a good friend right now, Armin. I think I should leave and-” 
“You’re the only friend I need. Just come on, okay? No one’s going to talk about Satellite Port, especially if I’m with you. They’re just going to try and wrangle spoilers out of you for the next season.” Armin responds, holding his hand out. 
Eren look down at his outstretched hand, blue eyes filled with such a vote of confidence that Eren agrees, stepping out into the flashing lights with Armin at his side, the two of them gaining a considerable amount of cheers as they walk out. 
Eren walks down with Armin, snapping a few pictures, before stopping to talk to a few of the interviewers, letting Armin carry the bulk of the weight as his mind spins in thirty different directions. About where he’s standing, if he should leave, how he’s a fraud and everything in between. 
Armin tugs him nearly all the way to the end as he pushes him into the auditorium, Eren’s chest heaving as he settles into his seat in between Hange and you, though your seat is still empty. 
“Eren. You okay?” 
Eren gives a halfhearted nod as Hange and Levi pinch their eyes in his direction, sharing a look, before leaning back in their chairs. Hange’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, which is all he tries to focus on as more people start piling in - cameras, lights, sounds getting brighter and brighter. 
Eren feels a tap on his shoulder to find you at his side now, a big smile on your face. 
“Oh my god. The interviewers out there were so fun.” 
“Yeah. Yeah, I really liked them.” 
He feels you pull for his hand, nestling it under the pleats of your dress, obscured from the public view, as you squeeze his hand three times. Eren tries to ignore the pounding, burning, twisting happening in his mind as he focuses on the announcer, giving his opening monologue. He’s clearly doing a bit of crowd work as he’s walking around, pointing and poking fun at the stars around him. 
And Eren’s worst fear is self-actualized when he walks over to the two of you, his voice booming in his ears as the lights flash in his face. He can feel Hange’s grip on his shoulder tighten as he starts talking. 
“Here we have an international pop-star, Y/N L/N. Originally a small town girl from Canada, her soft spoken love songs, phenomenal acting, and insane dance act have left no heart untouched.” 
Eren looks over to find your cheeks pink, a big smile spread on your face. He can’t help but smile - thinking about you crying in your room after your first panels to be what you are now. 
“And you. What’s your name again? It’s sweet they let fans sit with stars now.” the headliner asks him, eliciting a large amount of laughter from the crowd as he walks on. 
Eren swallows hard, his eyes and throat burning as he sounds echoes in his ears. 
It’s funny. It’s just a joke. It’s a joke because it’s funny that no one knows who he is. It’s funny because he’s no one compared to you and-
“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Eren says, standing up and walking out. 
“Eren.”
He shakes your fingers off his wrist as he nearly springs out, loosening the tie around his throat and yanking the heavily starched collar around his neck. And it’s back. That sickening, sickening feeling in full flesh. The block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - making his legs feel like lead, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose. 
Eren reaches for the closest room, an open bar playing a video of the ceremonies as he settles onto the bench, head pressed against the concrete as he murmurs out for a glass of water. 
Eren stays there - trying to feel the concrete cold against his forehead, his breath making his entire chest tremble, and his knuckles pressed white. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and lifts his head expecting Hange. 
Instead, he finds an older man - nearly in his fifties with gray hair smiling down at him. 
“Eren. It’s nice to see you again.” 
Eren lifts his head, trying to rack his fried brain from where he knows him. 
“You know, Eren. We’ve been in the same room hundreds of times. Yet, we’ve barely talked for two minutes.” 
“Ss-sorry. I don’t mean to-” 
“You and I could be really helpful to each other.” 
He slides over his card, the name gleaming back at him as the memory comes back. Years ago, at that panel, where he met him the first time. Scott Clarkson, the Stone Studios producer. 
“If you want your reputation back, if you don’t want to be the butt of the joke anymore, if you want to be the one talked about next to her instead of Ricky James, you’d give the number a call. Instead of ripping it half on principle this time.” 
Eren watches him slide off the bench, a smile pressed on his face, as he turns his face back to the screen, watching you accept the Best Actress in a Drama Series Role. He looks back down at the card, the silver shine reflecting on his face. 
Eren tucks it into his pocket. And calls the next day. 
It's the worst mistake he makes.
--
next part
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effectiveresistance · 2 months
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One of Montéregie’s last natural environments is in jeopardy! The planned construction of the Northvolt battery plant in Saint-Basile-le-Grand is an ecocidal disgrace. If this project goes ahead, 1.4 square kilometers of wetlands and woodlands will be razed to the ground, serving the greenwashing strategy of our governments, and doing so with public funds.
Under capitalism, the energy transition, i.e. the move away from hydrocarbons, means the multiplication of open-pit mines, particularly in the global South, to extract the metals used to manufacture batteries, the construction of new hydroelectric dams on First Nations lands, the establishment of mega-factories on the banks of our waterways, not to mention the ambition of many countries to increase nuclear power. Against these false solutions that threaten the ecosystems we mobilize, Northvolt is a project of capitalist capitalism.
We have taken the initiative to oppose this deforestation by inserting steel bars and nails into the trunks of trees endangered by the plant. While having minimal impact on the health of the trees, these pose a significant risk to heavy machinery.
The harvesters currently employed in the field will be severely damaged if their heads come into contact with the metal objects when cutting.To stop Northvolt, we need to multiply our tactics and hit where it hurts: causing economic risk and uncertainty. Contrary to Minister Fitzgibbon’s claims, we didn’t come across any “three-eyed fish”, but rather were accompanied by birdsong and were able to walk the countless paths made by the animals that inhabit the woodland. We gave the forest weapons to defend itself!
Spiking is a proven method of direct action. It was used in the early 1980s by Earth First! to prevent the felling of redwoods in the US Pacific Northwest, and was popularized by the book “Ecodefense: A Field Guide to Monkeywrenching”. The method was also used against the clear-cutting of primary forests in Clayoquot, British Columbia.
Today, we are calling for a broad mobilization against the destructive Northvolt mega-plant project. We must attack this destructive machine for crushing life by targeting its weak points. Let’s sabotage the equipment, block the construction sites and harass the industry’s elected representatives. The environmental movement must redouble its efforts.
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follows-the-bees · 5 months
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Stede Bonnet character study in 2x7.
What the audience sees and what Stede sees/feels/thinks are different, and I think that's a really important perspective to consider, especially with everything that happens in Man on Fire.
When Ed went to the party in 1x5, he was having the time of his life at first: dancing, making up stories, winning them over. And then when they turned, he had Stede. Stede came through using the "upper crust use cutting remarks" method.
In a direct parallel, in 2x6, this time Stede is getting recognition. His entire life he's been bullied, beaten down, laughed at and - just like Ed - he is having fun being the center of attention. This has never fully happened to him, even his crew - especially at the beginning - didn't fully respect him.
So, let's talk about Stede's perspective of Ed and his crew vs our audience perspective.
We know the crew loves Stede, he is their captain - for better or worse - but they continually choose to stay with him and use the methods he taught them to get through: the act of grace, Jim telling Fang the story of the wooden boy to make him feel better, the marooned crew continually to stick with him at Spanish Jackie's and saving money to buy a new vessel, using the safe space talk when the two new crews come together and the trauma makes them paranoid of each other. And of course, arts and crafts time to bring them together again as a crew but also to present Izzy the unicorn leg and welcome him unconditionally.
Out of all these instances, Stede only sees the act of grace and them sticking together and getting back to the Revenge.
Stede has been prioritizing his crew a lot more this season - even over his self interests (mainly, there is some stuff we can talk about how he immediately leaves after Ed is voted off the ship and then spends all day with him and brings him back.) But he kicks Calico Jack off, he saves the marooned crew from the island, and then for the Pirate Queen's ship, holding back his grief of Ed's death, only going to him after the crew is safe. And after he realized how much the curse was affecting him, he does ultimately give up the suit.
Now Ed. We of course see how much Ed loves him. I wrote a lot about Stede's perspective of Ed coming to his room after he kills Ed and how much that is a substantial moment for them. Not just because of the sex but because in the past Ed shuts down and leaves when Stede stands up (when he kicked Calico Jack off - Ed leaves, he doesn't do anything when Izzy challenges Stede to a duel, etc)! So Stede is afraid Ed will leave, but Ed doesn't, he shows up. He's there for Stede. Read that meta here.
But we also know what's going on with Ed's head, his insecurities coming back, his wanting to not be a pirate and seeing Stede become the biggest one right now. But Stede doesn't get it.
So everything spirals so quickly in 2x7, Man on Fire. As I mentioned previously, Stede is enjoying being the center of attention after a life of not having any respect from anyone.
And in his mind, him and Ed are partners. "But we're a partnership" it's already set in his mind, probably further cemented by them sleeping together and taking that next step. So he goes to Ed, realizing he's not by his side and Ed tells him he's leaving, already made up his mind, randomly mentions the fish - which Stede doesn't understand the meaning of - and then tells him that last night was a mistake. This has to be a mindfuck for Stede. Ed chooses to come to him and then immediately saying he regrets it - we know it's not the sex but the moving too fast - and is leaving, something that he was already afraid of happening and he thinks has happened in the past when Ed shut down. He tried to salvage it "well, you know, this can be whatever we want it to be."
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So now, his boyfriend broke up with him and he's spiralling even more, and like Ed does when he is spiralling (hides under a blanket or in a blanket fort, or Stede's robe, getting comfortable and warm) Stede surrounds himself with people. His own warm blanket of loose acceptance.
But then he sees his crew getting supposedly poached. (I'm not sure if he actually knows anything about Olu and The Queen). And now everything comes crashing down again. Ed left him, his crew is leaving him, he doesn't think he's good enough. All those insecurities, things falling apart. And his self esteem issues are raging.
And then Steak Knife dies (I assume he is supposed to be dead) for him. Another person to haunt Stede's dreams.
Yes, you can read Stede challenging The Queen only as an ego trip, but in no way do I think that's all of what's happening. It is more of a frightened traumatized man at his wits end trying to save his family. "We've been through hell together."
Everyone is leaving him, he's got tears in his eyes, and he's doing something, anything to keep his family together. Even if it's something against an opponent he can't win against. Cause isn't it better to at least show his crew he's there for them again, than have to see everything he has built, he has loved, walk away from him?
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breannasfluff · 10 months
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“Everything okay?”
Time’s voice isn’t what Wild expects when he surfaces in the river. The fish in his teeth, still wriggling, means he can only nod. He bites a little harder as the scales slip. 
The old man watches as he kicks to shore and drops more fish on the rocks. With a flash of blue, they disappear into the slate. They’ll stay in the same condition until he needs them; a bonus for fresh food on the road. 
Wild keeps an eye on Time as he finds a flat rock and pulls out a knife. The fish in his mouth is finally transferred as he cuts off the head and quickly guts it. Another slice separates the filet from the spine and he carefully pulls it off, plucking stray bones. 
“How did you catch the other fish?”
Right, Time is still watching. Well, he’s halfway through taking off the skin; not too much longer. “Bombs. Fastest way to fish.”
The old man pales, then looks faintly green. His jaw works, likely trying to decide if it’s worth chastising him about his methods. Wild doesn’t really care; it’s efficient and leaves less to chance.
Fish prepared, Wild pops a strip into his mouth and holds out another to Time. “Want some?”
“Raw?”
He shrugs. Lots of things can be eaten raw, depending on how desperate he is. Sometimes it’s not safe to build a fire to cook and he has run out of prepared meals before. 
Time takes a piece, but clearly regrets it as soon as he bites down. 
Wild snorts at his face, still working through the fish. 
With effort, Time swallows. “I don’t think that’s for me. Try Wind next time.”
He doesn’t point out that Time wasn’t exactly invited in the first place; it’s nice to share when he can. 
The old man watches the steady inhale of food and Wild can’t help the self-consciousness creeping along his back. 
“Where’d you learn to prepare fish like that? Raw, I mean?”
“Lurelin village. They do some great things with fish and citrus.” He switches to signing as he eats. ‘If I saw fish, they were easy to catch on my journey.’ He pats the slate. ‘I just wish they weren’t so slimy.”
“I’d imagine so,” Time says faintly. He’s rolling a question around and Wild waits him out. He’s working on the second filet when Time says, “You learned to eat a lot of things on your journey.”
It’s a statement, but he nods anyway. 
“Did you…always have enough to eat?” The old man asks like he doesn’t want to know the answer. 
‘I got by.’ Food was…hard to come by, sometimes. He learned to stock up; to hoard every apple or mushroom to tide him over when food was scarce. The Gerudo desert once cost him all the food in his slate and he ran out before he got to the Great Fairy Fountain shrine to warp back. Coupled with near-constant sandstorms stalling the slate; it was a bad time. 
When he first emerged from the shrine, everything was a question of edibility. The slate could identify ingredients but didn’t tell Wild how they should be prepared. 
Time’s still frowning, but further comments are stalled as Hyrule wanders down the stone path with a wave. “We wondered where you two went.”
‘Fishing,’ Wild signs, considering the remains of his fish. 
Time throws an arm around Hyrule as he approaches, letting the smaller hero lean into him. “Wild was telling me how he learned to prepare raw fish. Have you tried it before?”
“When we visited Wind’s time I did. The fish in my time aren’t…the best for eating.”
Hyrule may be bad at cooking, but he’s not a picky eater. Wild perks up at a possible ally. “What’s the strangest thing you’ve eaten?”
“Oh, um.” He’s embarrassed, shooting a darting look up at Time. “You know…lots of things.”
“Rocks, for me.”
“Rocks!” Time jerks, arm slipping off Hyrule’s shoulder. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
With a grin, Wild shakes his head. “The Gorons eat rock roast and, well…”
“This was after your amnesia, right?” 
The champion stares Time dead in the eye and shakes his head.
Read the rest here!
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rottrottencorpse · 8 months
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Tell me all your autistic Cartman headcannons
These are things I noticed from watching the show and less of being a HC.
Obviously autism is a spectrum and his other mental illnesses may be contributing factors to some of these, but, as a person with Autism I found them noticeably relatable. I'll elaborate on some but some of them I don't necessarily need to, they're pretty self explanatory.
• Doesn't notice/care when others are hurt or upset:
• Gets upset by minor changes:
Any little thing, great example is in 'Let them Eat Goo' (S23e4) he doesn't like when they change the lunches at school to the point of throwing tantrums that end up in the hospital 😭 and they're all so worried he'll notice the subtle change with the goo.
• Repeats words/phrases:
Any episodes where he repeats something is a great example of this, early seasons he does it the most, especially when he says 'Hella' over and over in 'Spooky Fish' (S2e15)
• Has obsessive interests:
Also pretty self explanatory, I think the best example is his obsession with "making a million dollars". It's his biggest goal, his drive. Any time he schemes something big it's to make money. Also any time he hyperfixates on a game he's playing or a goal he has seperate from the other three. The whole world could be falling apart and he'd be more determined to save his video game console than anything else.
• Hyperactive/impulsive/and inattentive behavior:
🤨 look at him in class lol
• Finding it hard to make friends/preferring being alone:
He struggles to be close to his friends in the earlier seasons because they're such bullies, so he hangs out with stuffed animals instead. Ofc he in turn becomes the bully but that's because his friends uh- I dunno- bullied him? Lol. He obviously gets a little better at making friends as the show progresses because he's shown to be friendly with Craig/Craig's group and have Internet friends.
• seeming blunt, rude or not interested in others without meaning to (or meaning to, in Eric's case🤣)
• Unable to express how he feels:
Super easy, he doesn't express emotions the way the other kids do. He can't tell the others when he's upset, instead he deflects hardcore. He can't tell his friends he appreciates them, so instead he tells them they suck and he hates them.
• Liking to plan things carefully before doing them:
Obviously any time he schemes. He always has some white board or blueprints, something. It's great. He's so organized when he wants to be.
• Getting too close to ppl/getting upset if people are too close or touch you:
Anytime he gets in Kyle's space/gets annoyed Butters is in his space.
• Challenges taking turns in a conversation
• Monopolizing conversation with one’s own interests or thoughts:
Both this and the previous one are similar, but he's constantly dominating the conversations and cutting people off/butting in whenever he wants. In Cartman's mind, his ideas are more important.
• Inability to “see” the perspective of others
• Misperception of language or social situations
• Frustration and anxiety over unexpected changes in routines and schedules:
When he's PISSSEDDD OFFFF at Heidi for making him late to the pumpkin patch in 'Sons of Witches' (S21e6) reminded me of being mad because I NEEED to be early to places, just like how he does
It's also shown that children with autism can learn multiple languages fairly quickly, and Cartman canonically speaks both German and Spanish- so. There's that. As well as he's fucking smart? As shit? Like yeah he sucks ass in school but it's not because he's stupid, I think he just needs a different kind of teaching/studying method. Because he can do math, he makes things, he's creative, talented, artistic, he knows how businesses are run, can work with money. And yeah you can chalk all this up to just ridiculousness for the sake of making the show funny, but one too many coincidences in my opinion.
Like I stated before, these are just traits I share/noticed in other people with autism that he also seems to exhibit. Again, they could be in relation to the miraid of other mental illnesses this kid probably has. But not everyone with autism acts like Cartman, duh-doy, and I'm no expert in any way. These are just observations I've made as a viewer.
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