#that title has mf LAYERS

[bodrewritten]

Daughter of Discord Chapter 16: Break the Chain

2:48 PM

When Applejack arrived at the cottage, Fluttershy was already packing her bag to meet the others. Her face was puffy and red but determined.

"Fluttershy!" the cowgirl cried, racing up to her. "Are you okay?"

Despite the shocking event of the day, Applejack worried that Discord had harmed her.

"He didn't hurt ya, did he?"

"of course not! He was so gentle with me even though..."

"Oh, it's a nightmare out there, Sugar! I mean what you did was wrong, but he didn't have to..."

She looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"Fluttershy!" Rainbow Dash cried as she, Pinkie and Rarity entered the cottage. "What's going on?"

"It's raining yummy delicious chocolate milk rain everywhere!" Pinkie exclaimed. "And still no whipped cream!"

"We just picked the kids up from the park, and they said they saw Discord take Screwball and Zany! And Glory said he went major nuts dude, like bars in the window, truly gone fishing.

"What's this all about?" Rarity asked.

"Fluttershy cheated on Discord and he got angry," Applejack said quickly.

Rainbow scoffed. "Get real, AJ! Fluttershy would never..."

"I saw her! She was in the alley this afternoon kissin' another stallion!"

"That can't be!" Rarity declared. "She was at the spa with me all afternooon!"

She narrowed her eyes at the unicorn. "You callin' me a liar?"

"You calling Fluttershy a common-"

"Girls!" Pinkie screamed. "This is no time for fighting! Can't you see Fluttershy's upset?"

The pegasus shivered as she sobbed some more. Applejack sighed.

"You're right. Fluttershy would never do a thing like that. She loves Discord more'n anything! It's just...it looked so much like you! But it wasn't like you at all!"

Pinkie gasped dramatically. "Maybe it was a changeling! I mean a changeling showed up at the Gala, so maybe...?"

Every pony stared at her with their eyebrows raised.

"That actually makes sense," Rainbow said with a shrug.

"Oh, goodness!" Rarity exclaimed!

Fluttershy stood up. "I have to find them! I have to make things right!"

"They could be anywhere by now, Sugar," Applejack said, shaking her head. "We best get to Twilight. I hate to say this, but...we need the Elements of Harmony."

The yellow pegasus gasped. "No! We can't turn him to stone!"

"Hopefully, it won't come to that. I'm sayin' we should have them just in case diplomatic talks don't cut it."

"Applejack is right," Rarity agreed. "We should go to Canterlot at once!"

"What about the kids?" Rainbow asked. "Isn't Maple Cinnamon still with Dinky?"

"Oh, shoot!" Applejack exclaimed. "I nearly forgot! Let's meet at the golden oaks library in half an hour. Two ponies at a time. Round up the kids and keep em at the farm"

"Alright, ponies!" Applejack cheered. "Let's break!"

"What's the point of even farming rocks, anyway?" Screwball asked her father.

The three beings of chaos were positioned comfortably on a kayak in the clouds overlooking Pinkie Pie's family rock farm. Gold Digger was chipping at a large boulder beneath them.

"Who knows?" Discord shrugged. "Why don't we give them something useful to mine? Any ideas, sweetie?"

Screwball rubbed her chin and then grinned mischievously. "I think I do."

She took a piece of cloud and shaped it into a lever. She pulled it back and a pile of bricks fell from the cloud towards Gold Digger.

"Now, now, honey," Discord warned, scrambling to take the brick from her hooves. "That could kill him, don't try anything painful like that."

"Point taken." Screwball summoned a megaphone. "GERONIMO!"

Gold Digger looked up. "What?"

When he saw the pile of small winged fish plummeting towards him, he screamed and jumped out of the way. Screwball summoned a banana peel on which he slipped and fell face down into a banana cream pie. The two chaotic beings rolled onto their backs in laughter.

"Classic!" Discord cried. "That's a classic!"

The filly laughed and picked up her brother. "Did you see that, Zany? Wasn't that the most hilarious thing ever? That'll teach him to pick on ponies like us!"

As she embraced the smiling infant, Screwball started feeling dizzy. She put her hoof to her head.

"You alright, dear?" Discord asked with concern.

"Yeah," she muttered, shaking her head. "Dad, can we go home now?"

"No!" the draconequus said quickly. "I mean...we only pranked one pony! Wasn't there another colt who made fun of you?"

"yeah I... Look, I'm gonna go talk to him."

Screwball hovered down onto the metallic ground next to gold digger. She coughed to get his attention.

"oh! Screwball is it? Back to your old tricks again I see?"

"yeah I uhh, I'm sorry. About hurting you all those years ago. I was young and out of control, and I didn't think about the consequences."

Gold digger smiled and his grimy face seemed familiar, but not cruel.

"hell, I could say the same thing." Gold digger scratched his newfound mustache. "I was opposed to change, and I really, i-i had certain prejudices that really weren't okay. I'm truly sorry miss screwball."

"Well..." Screwball scratched at her head and stood in silence kicking rocks.

"yeah. Thank you. A lot, actually. You've grown a lot. Actually, I really don't do this alot, only when I used to..."

Gold digger laughed and clapped a hoof onto her withers. "Of course! If we all kept thinking about the past there wouldn't be a future! You best get back to your fun screwball. Try not to have too much!

"haha, yeah...." Screwball flew off. "I'll write, okay!"

Discord was playing with the baby, who seemed uninterested.

Screwball shook her head. "Dad, this has been fun and all, but we should call it a day before we get into any more trouble. I mean Mom's not gonna be happy."

The draconequus scowled. "Your mother really doesn't care what we do at the moment."

The filly gasped. "Dad! How can you say such a thing?! What's gotten into you?"

She trailed off as he put his tail around her. "How'd you like to crash the ball game like old times?"

Screwball was tempted at the mention of baseball, but she could not stop thinking about her mother. Why was her dad acting like he did not care?

"That...does sound fun, but...we should get home. It's Zany's nap time anyway."

The infant appeared in Discord's arms. He was bouncing up and down with excitement.

"He doesn't look sleepy to me!"

As he tickled the baby, he felt a sudden wave of fatigue. Screwball raised an eyebrow as he slunk to the ground.

"Maybe you could use a nap?"

Discord shook his head wildly. "No! How can either of us sleep when there's chaos to wreak! Do you want to sabotage that ball game or not?"

Twilight ceased her pacing when her five best friends came bolting through the door.

"What is going on out there?!" she demanded. "Fluttershy, I thought you would have Discord under your control by now!"

The yellow pegasus whimpered. Applejack gave her an assuring pat on the back.

"They had a misunderstanding," the cowgirl explained.

"Now Discord's all mad and making it rain chocolate milk like crazy!" Pinkie shrieked.

Twilight's eyes widened in fear. "Where's Screwball?"

Fluttershy cried and buried her face in Applejack's shoulder.

"Discord took her and Zany with him," Rarity replied sincerely. "Now all three of them are on the loose!"

The alicorn hung her head. "I was afraid this would happen."

"But that's not all!" Rainbow declared. "We think the changelings are involved!"

"Explain."

As hey did Twilight sighed and looked at the chaos storm through the window. "I'm afraid...we need the Elements of Harmony."

Every pony gasped.

"WHAT?!" Fluttershy screamed. "No! We can't, Twilight! We can't turn them to stone! They're my family! And poor little Zany is just a baby! And Screwball...I promised her she'd never suffer such a fate!"

"Fluttershy," Twilight said slowly. "I don't want to use the Elements on them either. Hopefully, we won't have to, if we can reason with Discord. However, if things get out of hoof and he won't listen..."

"NO!"

"If it turns out we have to use the Elements against him, it will only be temporary. I know a spell that I think might release him from stone. We wouldn't be punishing him for all eternity, we'd just be giving him a time-out."

Fluttershy relaxed a little. "I guess if it's for a little while...oh, but he'll hate me so much even if it was just for a little while! And what about the kids?"

"Don't worry. We won't use the Elements against them. Zany is too young for such punishment, and Screwball is smart. Once we explain things to her, she'll come around."

"I hope so," Rainbow said. "That kid is like family!"

"And ya don't give up on family," Applejack agreed.

Twilight turned back to Fluttershy. "We'll only use the Elements as a last resort, but we won't use them without your permission."

"Just...don't hurt him."

Screwball laughed and cackled as her chaos reigned. Her smile faded when she noticed the ponies running at the sight of her. One unicorn with a toothpaste cutie mark looked back at her for a moment. Screwball recognized her as Aquafresh.

"What did I ever do to you?"

The chaotic pony was confused. "Come on, Aquafresh! It was just a joke!"

She glared at her. "Look around, Screwy. How many ponies do you see laughing?"

Screwball stood frozen in place as the unicorn ran off with the others, leaving her in an empty paint-splattered street. She shook Aquafresh's words off and began searching for her brother.

"Screwy?"

She turned and saw her best friend standing behind her. Only one eye was looking directly at her, but both of them were sad.

"Dinky!" Screwball exclaimed. "Hey! How'd the date with Maple Cinnamon go?"

"It got cut short," the unicorn said bluntly, "on account of the rain."

"Oops!" the earth pony giggled. "Sorry about that! I hope you didn't get too wet!"

She expected Dinky to laugh along with her, but the unicorn's serious expression did not falter. After a while, Screwball's smile was gone again.

"Dinky, you okay?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Screwball blinked. "What? This? Relax, Dinky! Dad and I are just having a bit of fun! By the way, have you seen Zany?"

"No."

"Come on, Dinks!" She summoned a smiley mask. "Get into the spirit of things!"

Dinky stared at her for a long time and then turned away. Screwball lowered her mask in puzzlement.

"What's the matter with you? It's not like I haven't done stuff like this before."

"Yes, but..." Dinky said in a choked voice. "You weren't...mean to other ponies before."

Screwball scoffed. "Mean?! Dinks, it's not like any pony's getting hurt!"

The unicorn looked up at her. "Maple Cinnamon slipped on a banana peel and hit his head."

The earth pony froze. "Dinky, I...I didn't know! I can fix it!"

"Just because you can fix him doesn't change the fact that you hurt him in the first place!"

Screwball was taken aback. "Dinky, I've never seen this side of you..."

"Really?!" Dinky snapped. "Gee, that's really funny! Because I've never seen this side of you! What happened to my best friend? The pony who always stood up for me, who would never hurt a fly? What happened to her?"

"What are you talking about, Dinky? She's right here!"

The unicorn shook her head. "No. You're not my best friend."

Screwball's heart shattered into millions of pieces. "Dinky, how can you say that?"

Dinky turned and ran while Screwball stood hurt and bewildered. In all their years of friendship, Dinky had never spoken so harshly to her, and never had she said such a thing.

"She's wrong," she declared to herself. "I would never hurt anyone! I'm not bad! I'm not!"

Screwball stomped her hoof, splashing it in a chocolate puddle. She subconsciously cleared the water and saw her reflection. Her parents always said she had a sweet and pretty face, but now it looked dropping and upset. Realization overwhelmed her, her scowl turning into a frown.

She gazed around at Ponyville and only now noticed how different it looked. Buildings were floating upside down and splattered in paint, the streets had a checkerboard design and banana peels scattered everywhere, the school she attended as a filly was hanging sideways from a tree.

Everything looked...wrong. This was not the town she grew up in, these were not the streets she played in, this...this was chaos. Not a few harmless whimsical pranks, but full-scale chaos, the kind of thing her father said she was meant to create.

She did not like it.

[goldammerchen]

*is still avoiding making day 5* (*this will be queued for later*)

one of my projects (1/2 main ones) is going to be the end of me (Dx)

[TLDR: history interspersed with modern era psychological horror]

where do i even start. one of the reasons i make my pru begin with the order (instead of as baItic), besides straight up kinda make him cartoonish evil [/half-joking...], is to make the contrast deeper between the order/prussia and the freaking gd.r for fic reasons (so less contrast in other fics/ideas), and for gil to doubt if some of his changes are from being deleted then renamed, and/or remembering things different—perhaps wrongly—since being "reformulated".

in my version, when the common people from the pru.ssian tribes outlive the crusades, it includes the heta-people representatives (semi-unfortunately for gisel). some of the avatars join the order, others keep finding ways to continue antagonizing gil (esp the one that was THE baItic pr.ussia). but, over the years, each death, each resurrection, each reincarnation, changes them, making them forget. after the black death, nothing is ever the same as before (germani.zation + the mass death from the plague), aside some sort of atavistic dislike towards gil--who was younger than then during the crusades, so it was complex for all. at some point, at the end of his childhood, the fanatic kid began to understand the reality of his existence. without exchanging spoken words, he turned blind eye to the paganist rituals, while the prus.sians who joined the knights stepped forward to protect him when needed... all of this doesn't mean gil didn't think like a mf imperiaIist nationaIist during the xix century until the 19.18 rev, while later, as much as he somewhat begins to think things different during the post-war, he always liked the taste of revenge... [i'm gonna write the fic: enough explaining].

so, *the* teuto.nic order, *the* pr.ussian kingdom and subsequent incarnations, to the (in the most idealized version) internationaIist dd.r?? was the change of heart genuine, or the result from literally dying? nobody was really the same after the wars, yet somehow that's truer for him. how someone like him (and ivan) dare(d) to call themselves revoIutionaries...?

to this mess above, add gil in the modern days beginning to lose touch with his time perception. nothing is working how it should be, and isn't going away no matter what. he deals with the psychological horror bullshit mainly alone at first, until he can't hide it anymore from lud, his younger brother, who has mixed feelings towards his older brother (after everything). this brings another layer of psychological mess to the story, that develops further in the next part (including canondivergence).

i'd love to tag these with the title of the fic, but it ties with the ending. edit: #potatocest angst works for now.

[the other fic is a crossover, set right after the war, but the tone is different...]

edit 2: kinda moving some of the tags here. after years of daydreaming, i'm fond of my baItic pru oc + kaIinin... oc. but, those appear in *another* project that scares me lol (high expectations Dx). the dude (my gil) basically got uprooted after doing the same (oversimplified i know)

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Lil Wayne - Tha Carter II

I slept on Wayne for too long. I suppose he was hitting his stride when I was barely a high schooler, but I have no excuse for not checking out his backlog sooner. Tha Carter II is a solid contender for his best work and represents a huge jump in quality from his previous work. That's not to say Tha Carter I is bad, far from it, but Weezy completely and utterly destroys the competition on this one. Behind the laid back lazy vibes there's a lot of highly technical shit happening in the verses here. Weezy can maintain a rhyme scheme well past when a normal person would have run dry and the multisyllabic patter is layered into the rhymes until he's practically juggling rhyme and rhythmic ideas. The ability to glide from laid back to intense staccato flow and from lazy to frenetic pace is an amazing achievement. When Lil Wayne declared himself the best rapper alive he was not kidding. He sincerely was one of the best rappers alive.

Mobb Deep - The Infamous

For people that are not already big hip hop heads this album is a bit of a hidden gem. It came out among a scene that was reinventing hardcore hip hop on the east coast, but didn't quite achieve the long term success of Enter the Wu Tang or Illmatic. Possibly the starkness is slightly to blame. There is no time for goofy skits and even the bravado isn't in the name of fun, this shit is serious. There's less individualist bravado here and more 'none of are gonna make it unless we all work together' vibes. East coast hip hop has a few notable hallmarks and my favorite is the oh so predictable inclusion of what I like to call "haunted piano". This tends to lend a more serious, stark sound to east coast hip hop as opposed to the funkier west coast. In the case of The Infamous these stark beats and dead serious subject matter make for an intense experience. Plus the features by Nas, Q-Tip (who also produces), and half the Wu-Tang crew make this album a who's who of east coast rappers.

George Harrison - All Things Must Pass

When the Beatles broke up John and Paul started their solo careers and Ringo went back into the Ringo box or whatever. George Harrison however had an ace up his sleeve. While John and Paul had been stealing the limelight he had just been writing a billion fucking songs and so his solo debut is a triple album. Surprisingly there is very little of the psychedelic raga influenced ramblings that you'd expect, instead Harrison seems to have gotten interested in country and blues. And it really works! There is of course a fair bit of psychedelia, My Sweet Lord was the big hit after all and the title track is pretty psych too. But imo the album's strongest moments are after a reprise of Isn't It A Pity where he just spends the rest of the album doing extended bluesy hard rock guitar jams.

Drake - If You're Reading This It's Too Late

Listen I'm such a fucking hater for Drake. So it pains me to say that this album isn't a complete dumpster fire. It is still impossible for me to take Drake seriously as a rapper but hey at least he's trying to actually rap right? I think this might actually be enjoyable if it was pared down a bit and if the beats were punched up a bit and if someone other than Drake rapped over them.

Aerosmith - Rocks

I'm gonna start being known as that girl who will go to bat for mediocre dad rock bands aren't I? I like Aerosmith, they genuinely nail the stupid guitar god machismo of the 70s. The guitars can scream, the drums go wild, and Steven Tyler's camp ass voice feels completely unrestrained. All they have to do is keep up that energy and they do. When Last Child started playing I legitimately air guitared to that sick ass riff.

Madvillain - Madvillainy

MF Doom and Madlib were a match made in hip hop heaven. Madlib could flip a sample better than anyone in the industry at the time and the esoteric nostalgic beats were the perfect accompaniment for Doom's supervillain persona. Doom's rapping is at its peak here, pretty much take every good thing I said about Wayne's technique and turn it up to eleven. Faster, effortless, deliberately sloppy, mumbly yet perfectly enunciated. Rhymes in rhymes in rhymes are stuffed rapid fire in a minute and a half what would take other rappers four. Doom's GOAT status is unassailable. The thing is that Madlibs beats are so incredible that if you just removed Doom from this record it would still be an amazing listen. These two are just so incredibly individually talented musicians that also happen to be the perfect fit for each other.

[daja-the-hypnokitten]

Jukebox reviews part 28! For context, see my post “A Project”     under this same tag. If you want to see a full list of his EMCSA   stories, they can be found here, sorted alphabetically.And if you want to see some of his drabbles, check out his blog at @jukeboxemcsa

Double Vision

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/2/2016                                       mc ff

First - ok, do the Ljosalfar also exist in the world of this story? (then again, are the Ljosalfar even a distinction from the Dokkalfar that existed pre-Christian influence? I dunno, the mythology is fairly incomplete as it stands, and none of this has anythign to do with the story so why am I spending so much time on this anyway?) Second, why does getting hit on the head give Jo the Second Sight? Or did she always have the capacity for it, and the hit just catalyzed it? REGARDLESS, as none of that has anythign to do with the actual control part of the story, moving on. It's a good story. Very fantasy, but I grew up LOVING mythology, so even though I'm a little rusty on it, seeing something drawing on myth is lovely. And the idea of control that most folk dont' notice, and that even though she *does* notice it Jo can't resist? It works within the context of the story. The actual control we see is fairly pedestrian by EMCSA standards, but the worldbuilding done around it means I like this story much more than I might have otherwise. 8/10 spirals 

 Wide Awake

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/2/2016                                       mc mf md

This falls into the therapist abusing trust trope I strongly dislike, but outside of that it's well done and put together. If you like the trope, give this one a read! 

 Take Me Home Tonight

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/9/2016                                       mc mf md

I don't know what to say about this story. It's so far out of my general realm of control I like that I have no frame of reference for it. It's half possession, half mind control of a different sort, and just not my style. But If you like dream and possession magic, give it a go? 

 Forever Your Girl

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/16/2016                                     mc mf md cb rb

Huh, from the title I was expecting this to be a Girls(tm) story, not a superhero story, and not such a tragic one at that. Oh, it has its moments of heat, during the transformation that takes place, but the end of it is just tragic. To be forced to continue loving someone who's dead, unable to truly mourn, No matter how much heat is in the rest of the story, I can't find it hot on the whole with that layer of tragedy underlying it. it's a GOOD story, just ... another one that isn't really erotica to me. 5/10 spirals 

 Trust and Obey

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/23/2016                                     mc ff hu

This story feels like a cross between Green Eggs and Ham and The Cat in the Hat. I get distracted by the couplets, especially the occasional slant rhyme, and honestly Dr Seuess-esque language in an erotica story is just offputting. 3/10 spirals 

 X, Y and Zee

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

1/30/2016                                     mc ff

... There is no IRB in the country that would approve this story, so this isn't just self-funded, but there can't be any meaningful oversight either. Also, her work needs more footnotes. Also, she clearly needs to review what we've learned from the Stanford Prison experiment; any time a researcher directly involves themselves in the experiment, as she did, it skews objectivity, and makes it less generalizable. We also ought to be presented with the method of recruitment; the nature of the recruitment can bias who is likely to apply. Further, any experiment of this sort should have included a boiler plate "you may revoke consent at any time" clause. Which clearly X was not provided. Putting the design/framing of the story aside, this is ... well, clearly it bothers me a little bit, given my science background, in the ways that it betrays the doctor's intentions with it. Which makes sense in context, but I get distracted considering how I'd improve the experiment. And it's a solid experiment for the goal of "how can I make girls want to have sex with me," rather than "how can I test response to authority?" - they *are* two different questions. The external view of the shifting mindset is less to my taste, and X's clear distress makes this less hot than it would be otherwise. 5/10 spirals 

 Kissing Disease

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/6/2016                                       mc ff mf fd md

Nope, I had to nope out of this one. I can't with stories of a pandemic spreading and people minimizing it until it's undeniable that it has to be worse that they say it is. I just can't. 

 Skeleton Key

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/13/2016                                     mc mf md

This one is a lot more magic than my preference, though the sudden internal changes are fascinating and add some heat for me. And Merrion acknowledging that he's being unethical actually makes me feel better, in some ways? I at least have more hope that he'll treat Paula right after this. And she clearly is getting something out of it, too, which helps. But it does come down to just being too magic for my tastes - though if you like magical artifacts driving the control, give this one a look. 6/10 spirals 

 The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/20/2016                                     mc mf ff fd hm

I never quite understand how pleasure is that overwhelming for folk. It can be fun to play with, sure, but to make me completely let go around someone who puts me on edge? I don't get it and never will. Especially given the context of their interaction here. Maybe I'm just too ace to ever truly grok it, though. But the way she uses the sensation to take control, to build an effective overload induction as she does? It's well done and well written, if a bit cold for my personal preferences.  7/10 spirals 

 Zone Out

 date uploaded   date updated     Tags

2/27/2016                                     mc

Another induction, and one that would be *really* good for folk who have trouble staying completely focused on a hypnotist, if it were a recording rather than a text induction, as it was clearly written to be read aloud.  The way it uses the idea of focusing on something other than the hypnotist, and letting their voice (and I want to say her, because I'm hearing Lady Ru'etha's voice reading it in my head, for all it's Jukebox's words) just slip past the conscious awareness. It does, of course, include arousal and orgasm suggestions, so be aware of that if you're susceptible to text inductions, but I also recommend hypnotists read this one and take some inspiration for if playing with folk who are easily distracted when trancing. 9/10 spirals

[businessindustry]

Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market Insights and Trends, Forecasts to 2024-2032

The Reports and Insights, a leading market research company, has recently releases report titled ���Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market: Global Industry Trends, Share, Size, Growth, Opportunity and Forecast 2024-2032.” The study provides a detailed analysis of the industry, including the global Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market share, size, trends, and growth forecasts. The report also includes competitor and regional analysis and highlights the latest advancements in the market.

Report Highlights:

How big is the Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market?

The global sintered porous plastic filters market size reached US$ 1,620.8 million in 2023. Looking forward, Reports and Insights expects the market to reach US$ 3,004.9 million in 2032, exhibiting a growth rate (CAGR) of 7.1% during 2024-2032.

What are Sintered Porous Plastic Filters?

Sintered porous plastic filters are filtration devices crafted by compacting plastic particles into a porous form through sintering. They are employed to cleanse gases and liquids in industrial contexts, providing advantages such as chemical resistance, thermal stability, and precisely controlled pore sizes. Widely utilized in sectors like pharmaceuticals and automotive, these filters ensure efficient and enduring filtration, maintaining high purity and reliability under demanding conditions.

Request for a sample copy with detail analysis: https://www.reportsandinsights.com/sample-request/1896

What are the growth prospects and trends in the Sintered Porous Plastic Filters industry?

The sintered porous plastic filters market growth is driven by various factors and trends. The market for sintered porous plastic filters is rapidly expanding, driven by their critical role in filtering gases and liquids across various industries. These filters are valued for their chemical resistance, thermal stability, and precise control over pore sizes. They are extensively used in pharmaceuticals, food and beverage, and automotive sectors to ensure effective and dependable filtration, maintaining high levels of purity and durability in challenging conditions. Market growth is fueled by advancements in materials technology, increased regulatory standards for product purity, and the growing demand for reliable filtration solutions across industrial applications. As industries prioritize efficiency and quality, the demand for sintered porous plastic filters is poised to grow, fostering innovation and market development. Hence, all these factors contribute to sintered porous plastic filters market growth.

What is included in market segmentation?

The report has segmented the market into the following categories:

By Type:

Polyethylene (PE) Filters

Polypropylene (PP) Filters

Polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) Filters

Polyvinylidene Fluoride (PVDF) Filters

Others

By Filtration Rating:

Microfiltration (MF)

Ultrafiltration (UF)

Nanofiltration (NF)

Other

By End-Use Industry:

Pharmaceuticals

Water Treatment

Food and Beverage

Automotive

Chemicals

Electronics

Medical Devices

Others

By Application:

Liquid Filtration

Air Filtration

Gas Filtration

By Sales Channel:

Direct Sales

Distributor Sales

By Product Form:

Sheets

Tubes

Discs

Others

By Operating Temperature:

Low Temperature

High Temperature

By Industry Vertical:

Industrial

Healthcare

Food and Beverage

Water and Wastewater

Automotive

Electronics

Other

By Filtration Efficiency:

High Efficiency

Medium Efficiency

Low Efficiency

By Application Area:

Residential

Commercial

Industrial

By Product Size:

Small Filters

Medium Filters

Large Filters

By Product Configuration:

Single-Layer Filters

Multi-Layer Filters

Composite Filters

Segmentation By Region:

North America:

United States

Canada

Europe:

Germany

The U.K.

France

Spain

Italy

Russia

Poland

BENELUX

NORDIC

Rest of Europe

Asia Pacific:

China

India

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ASEAN

Rest of Asia Pacific

Latin America:

Brazil

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Middle East & Africa:

Saudi Arabia

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Rest of MEA.

Who are the key players operating in the industry?

The report covers the major market players including:

Porvair Filtration Group

Mott Corporation

Pall Corporation

Porex Corporation

Sintered Filter Technology

Meissner Filtration Products, Inc.

GVS Group

Industrial Netting

Baoji Fitow Metal Co., Ltd.

Porous Metal Filters, Inc.

Advanced Filtration Concepts

Tri-Mer Corporation

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[lovejustforaday]

2023 Year End List - #16

16. We Buy Diabetic Test Strips - Armand Hammer

Main genres: Experimental Rap, Abstract Rap

A decent sampling of: Hardcore Rap, Conscious Rap, Industrial Rap, Political Rap, Cloud Rap

Why yes, I am a white nerdy indie rock fan who is also a big fan of experimental hip hop and loves Billy Woods projects. Shocking, I know.

Armand Hammer have been building a reputation for themselves for a good while now as one of the best 'underground' hip hop projects out there. And it isn't hard to see why.

These dudes are mad creative, spitting rhymes with a nice mix of esoteric wordplay and revolutionary messaging over beats that are always disorienting and challenging. And Billy Woods' disciplined, syncopated flow of sharp wit and bleak observations has a lot of natural chemistry with Elucid's more intuitive and rhythmically jerky, hardcore-meets-abstract style.

Shrines was a highlight of my 2020, spent in a lot of isolation and thinking about the systems that had gotten us to this crummy point in time. Meanwhile, 2021's Haram was a little bit less of a memorable project for me.

As for this one - yeah this one might just be my favourite project from the duo yet.

We Buy Diabetic Test Strips is a melting pot of tricky and eccentric beats, anxious, avant-garde production, and a plethora of lyrical topics ranging from religion to philosophy, race, sexual encounters, hustling under capitalism, and subverting the establishment, turning these ingredients into a viscous, complex bitter juice with the distinctly metallic scent of blood. This mf is dense, more so than probably any other rap album I listened to this year.

JPEGMafia's production work is sprinkled throughout this project. Apparently he used to have beef with these guys? Idk, it's exhausting to keep up with artists dissing other artists, and ol' Peggy seems to have beef with a lot of folks. Regardless, the dudes made up, and this has probably been my favourite year for him appearing on projects, between this and his collab album Scaring The Hoes (which just got snubbed from the honourable mentions, but I'm sure plenty enough people have already written praises for that one for their own year end lists anyway).

Anyhow, let's get on with the track breakdowns.

"Woke Up and Asked Siri How I'm Gonna Die" (song title of the year, obviously) is slick fucking cloud rap, like a soft layer of gossamer gauze obscuring images of carnal sex and the ugly feeling of emptiness. Very rapturous sound design throughout.

"When It Doesn't Start With A Kiss" is a maelstrom of a hip hop track, going from bubbly, uncharacteristically melodic electronic production during Elucid's verse efore being completely submerged in echoing, deep sea depths on Billy's.

A chilling marimba line opens "I Keep A Mirror In My Pocket", which turns into a clangorous changing meter featuring vibraphone, toms and kicks, and periodic alarm sounds coming from some weird-ass sample. Hallucinatory and abrasive all at once, like being haunted by some demonic tinnitus. I could see how this track would be off-putting to some with more sensitive ears, but I am a real masochist for the kind of organized chaos displayed on this track.

"The God's Must Be Crazy" tackles the CIA's involvement in the crack cocaine crisis which wreaked havoc in Black American communities in the late 20th century. The beat jitters with fidgety anxiety, brilliantly recreating the atmosphere of journalists unraveling dangerous, classified truths, nervous addicts that can't sit still, and the general horror of bearing witness to a drug crisis. The wordplay on this is also just godlike. Perhaps their best track yet.

I do think the mid-section kind of totally dominates this record. Tracks 4 through 8 are mostly mind-blowing, but then I'm a bit worn down by the last stretch of tracks, penultimate "Switchboard" notwithstanding, which is definitely another standout cut.

It could definitely also be that I just haven't spent enough time with this one - Armand Hammer's music is like a fine wine with many notes, and it takes time to unravel all of the wordsmithery, old hip hop references, socio-political history, and heavily layered production with multi-faceted beats that resist predictability.

Either way, Armand Hammer are still dishing out some of the craziest beats and flows left and right all over this thing. Nobody could call these guys unoriginal, and I don't see the duo slowing down any time soon. We Buy Diabetic Test Strips proves that Armand Hammer are still one of the most essential acts out there that are really working to keep the world of hip hop music endlessly fresh and groundbreaking.

8/10

Highlights: "The Gods Must Be Crazy", "I Keep a Mirror in My Pocket", "Woke Up and Asked Siri How I'm Gonna Die", "When It Doesn't Start With a Kiss", "Switchboard", "Niggardly (Blocked Call)"

[kindaasrikal]

Nono cause i see what you’re saying. Like Morro did some bad stuff man, idk what he did when he was alive and away from Wu but he ran away as a child and died a teen, that mf went through some deep shi during that time i know he did, and when it comes to his death, bro I’m telling you his death sounds traumatic. Like theres two ways he possibly died, the popular one where he burnt alive, and one Ive talked about before of him starving to death. And both are rightfully traumatising and probably sent him to insanity, especially as a teenager. Like this guy is probably my age and went through sm pain 😭

And whilst he should face the consequences of his actions and work for forgiveness, because what he did was horrible, that angst filled softy probably has way more layers to his character then we think and should have the chance to properly live and grow, at the very least. Like the ninja dont owe him anything tbh, but he DESERVES the chance to truly grow beyond what the green ninja title and the preeminent made him become. Like personally, i think his character could be a strangely knowledgeable and smart, sarcastic yet quiet personality. Its why i want him back in Dragons Rising so bad, not as a mc or anything but just to see a better exploration of his character and story with Wu, as well as his time AWAY from Wu.

CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT HOW HES TECHNICALLY YOUNGER THEN ALL THE NINJA NOW??

And how when he attacked the ninja he was probably the same/similar ages to them? It wasn’t a bunch of warriors battling, but a bunch of teens beefing 😭

you guys get my insane twitter rambles right. right

[super-aye]

STRANGER BESIDE ME STRANGER BESIDE ME STRANGER BESIDE ME STRANGER BESIDE ME

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 3

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Chapter 3: Sedated

Chapter Summary: Something something a drunk mind speaks a sober heart.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.1k+

Content / Warnings: alternating POV, death, car accident mention, drug addiction, attempt to date rape, sweet bb dee gets to go off on a mf, consent discussions, flashbacks, binge drinking / alcohol use / blackout drunk, grief, divorce, angst, yearning, spooky ghost, hangover, toxic parent

Notes: Chapter title from "Sedated" by Hozier. Y'all I keep writing a million words per chapter lol. Brevity is apparently not my forte. Ok thanks for reading, friends, I appreciate you!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

By the next time Dieter is able to come visit you, the snow has long since melted, and the idea of wearing a jacket sounds like hell on earth. Even now, when the sun has gone to bed and the moon is glowing full and luscious in the sky, the air is a thick soup that clings to Dieter’s skin as he walks the block from a liquor store to your apartment. He’s clutching a brown paper bag, which contains a bottle of whiskey, per your request. 

When he finds the entryway to your apartment complex and buzzes your unit, your voice comes crackling over the speaker into the tiny echoing glass box of a room, “Whooo is iiiit?!”

He flinches back at the unexpected intensity of volume, but presses the speaker button and responds, “Dieter.”

“DEEEE OH MY GOD HI! Come in, come in!!” you squeal, piercing his eardrums again, quickly followed by the buzz signaling the door being unlocked. He winces back. The slurs in your voice are evident already. 

I'm too fucking sober for this shit. 

Dieter yanks the heavy door open, limbs feeling exhausted and all too real. The plastic seal of the whiskey bottle crackles as he twists the cap off on the short stroll to the elevator. 

The circular button with an up arrow lights up when he presses it. He lifts the heavy glass bottle to his lips and takes three deep swallows of the intoxicant. A soft ding chimes, and the elevator's aluminum doors slide open. He steps inside, carefully avoiding his reflection in the mirrored walls as he smashes 5 on the panel of floor choices. His eyes fix on the glowing circle until his focus fades into abstract. 

He regrets not making another stop between his hotel room and your apartment. The deep yearning to snort a line of a powdered god complex straight to the back of his skull twists around his skin. It works in tandem with the tacky layer of sweat and humidity coating his body, exposing his nerve endings to the unrelenting stimulation of the world around him. 

As the elevator signals its ascent, he shifts his attention to the open bottle, to his fist wrapped around the crinkly brown bag at its glass neck, and raises it to his lips again. He tips it upside down and it glug-glug-glugs down his throat in time with the ding of the elevator flying up past floors 1, 2, 3, 4. 

The love-hate relationship he has with the smooth burn wages inside him when he reaches floor 5. He lowers the bottle, hissing as his mouth-to-stomach pipeline protests the whiskey. His head whips back and forth violently and his body shudders. The elevator doors slide open and he steps out, rolling his shoulders and tapping his fingers against the crinkle of the brown paper bag. 

He strolls up to your door, pausing to take a deep breath. His knuckles wrap against the dark wooden door. You bellow from inside, “IT’S OPEN!” 

When he opens the door, he looks around and immediately regrets coming here. You’re sitting cross-legged on the velvet, eggplant colored couch, half-empty beer bottle wedged between your thighs, wearing nothing but a loose, white, Fleetwood Mac tank top that hangs off one shoulder and a pair of black boyshorts. Tattooed, puzzle piece skin fully on display, looking butter soft in the golden light that emits from a floor lamp in the corner. 

Your beauty and lack of modesty isn’t what sets his hair on end, though. 

It’s the string bean of a man sitting next to you, hard eyes looking all too sober in contrast to how obviously wasted you are. His long, dishwater blonde hair is pulled back in a tight bun at the crown of his head. He’s wearing a pair of gray basketball shorts. That’s it. What Dieter assumes is the man's navy blue t-shirt is discarded on the plush, white carpet of your living room floor. 

His fingers slide along your bare thigh possessively as he sizes Dieter up. You look like you barely notice the touch, or even the person, as you clap your hands together and wave at Dieter, “Deeeeeeee ohmy godddd I’m so excited to see you, come here!” 

You jump to your feet, sending the beer bottle toppling onto the floor. The mystery man looks irritated and hisses as he flinches back at the sudden movement and its subsequent mess. 

“Oh noooo!” you giggle and snort, then try to bend over and pick the bottle up and stumble forward, catching yourself before you fall into the unlit gas fireplace. 

“I got it, I got it,” Dieter strides into the kitchen and trades the bottle of whiskey for a roll of paper towels off the countertop, bunching a few into a wad as he makes his way into the living room. You grab them from Dieter’s hands, then drop to your hands and knees, pressing down into the wet spot, soaking up the spilt beer. His eyes flick to Mr. Mysterio, who’s staring down your shirt, no doubt getting a fantastic view of your tits. 

Dieter goes back to the kitchen and rifles through cupboards until he finds a glass, then pours himself a hefty dose of liquor, and asks, “Either of you want a drink?” 

Mr. Mysterio shakes his head, “Nah, I’m good, thanks man.” 

“Yes, please!” you chime as you climb to your feet and clumsily make your way into the kitchen. Dieter shudders as your hand trails across the small of his back when you pass him.

You free throw the saturated, balled up paper towels towards the garbage. Your attempt fails, and the wad hits the linolium flooring with a wet smack. It goes unnoticed, and you grab a glass from the cupboard he left open, then set it down with a clink next to his. 

You lean back against the counter, gazing at Dieter with a hazy, half-there smile, “Thank you, boo.” 

Given your current state of sloppy drunk, he considers tricking you into drinking water instead of booze, but you’re eyeing the glass expectantly. Against his better judgment, he pours the amber liquid into the glass. 

“Who’s your friend?” Dieter mumbles, nodding to the shirtless man. 

You look ponder this, then tilt your head sideways to Mr. Mysterio, whose balls deep into something on his phone, “What’s your name again?” 

“Max,” he answers without looking up. 

“Max,” you repeat, grabbing the glass and pushing yourself off the counter. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

You tip toe back to the couch, swaying like a pendulum as you navigate the path. Dieter swallows the contents of his cup and pours more before he joins you two lovebirds on the couch. 

“So, is this gonna happen or not?” Max sighs. He finally peels his eyes away from the iPhone screen to roll his head on his shoulders and look you up and down. 

You frown and furrow your brow at him, “Ssss what happening? What’s happening?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Sex.” 

Dieter has to physically bite his tongue. The muscle writhes beneath the grip of his teeth. Un-fucking-believable. This fucking scumbag is still trying to fuck you. 

“Mmm,” you toss your head back and forth, as if you’re actually fucking considering this, then look from Dieter to Max, “Not unnnnless Dee canjoin.” 

“No,” both men say simultaneously, but for very different reasons. 

Max stuffs his phone in his pocket and rips his shirt off the ground, then tugs it over his head, “Thanks for wasting my time.” 

Dieter’s teeth release his tongue, and he sneers, “Were you seriously gonna fuck her?” Dieter's eyes narrow in a glare at Max's back as he walks by, “She’s shitfaced.” 

Max chuckles as he heads for the door, disregarding the comments. 

Dieter’s nostrils flare and he stands up, noting that his body feels lighter, more fluid. The whiskey is hitting him. He trails behind the douchebag and fumes, “She can barely fucking stand, you think she can fucking consent?”

“Hey, man, she messaged me and told me she wanted me to come fuck her in the ass,” Max asserts, turning to face Dieter with his hands up defensively, “I was just tryna hold up my end of the deal.” 

“There no fucking deal if she doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Dieter bellows, getting heated now. 

“Listen, I don’t give a shit,” Max scoffs and walks to the door, calling back as he exits, “Good luck, man.”

Once the door closes, Dieter stomps over and deadbolts it. He mutters under his breath, "Dare you to come back here, you fucking little shit." 

When he turns around, you’re folded in on yourself, arms wrapped around your legs, face buried between your knees. Shattered sobs wrack your body. 

Dieter throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, hoping his gaze shoots straight to whatever omnipotent being hangs out at the end of that backlit tunnel he never made it to the end of. He sends a psychic signal, asking, “What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” 

The almighty tunnel demon or whatever doesn’t respond, and he supposes it doesn’t fucking matter anyway. This is happening. His shoulders sag as he releases a sigh that’s the exact square footage of his lungs. He grabs the bottle of whiskey en route to the couch, then plops down next to you and coos, “You… you ok?”

He was never good at this whole “comforting” thing. Maybe he should just leave. You probably won’t remember anyway. He seriously considers this, and he’s tossing the idea back and forth across his brain when you turn to face him. His body goes rigid as you meet his gaze. 

Your eyes are bloodshot and glassy, your pretty face sopping wet with tears. Maybe some snot, too, but you’re still fucking beautiful. Which is insane. Your face folds in its sadness and you whimper, “Why’d you say that, Dee?”

His mouth gapes open and he furrows his brow, shaking his head from side to side in confusion, “Wh-what?”

“You said ‘were you seriously gonna fuck her?’” your face contorts as you put on a faux deep voice, and Dieter assumes that’s an attempt to mock him. 

“No shit, Lua-” he scoffs, throwing his hands up in disbelief. Are you seriously mad at him for shooing away the fucking creep that tried to date rape you? 

“Why would you say it like that? Like ‘who would fuck her, that’s disgusting’? Is- is it because of my scars?” your eyes are welling with tears again and you self-consciously run a hand along the side of you that was put back together by sutures. 

He shakes his head and turns his body to face you, “No-”

“Am I really that fucking ugly?” you squeak and your body shudders as you inhale a sob. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” Dieter booms incredulously. 

Your face is wet and crumpled up like the beer-soaked paper towel on the floor beside your kitchen garbage can. You’re still crying. Is this what the whole night is gonna be? 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and runs his hands through his hair, sending it every which way, and sighs, “You are… fucking gorgeous, Lua,” he pauses, then his brow quirks as he admits, “The things I would do to you… Unholy, unspeakable things, really, honestly. I would fuck you senseless any given day. I mean that.” 

A dopey smile spreads across your lips and you giggle. His face falls into earnestness, and he searches your face, “But I wouldn’t touch you if you were too drunk to consent. That’s a shitty fucking thing to do," he grits his teeth and cocks his jaw, dropping his gaze to the floor, "Which is why I asked that rat-faced fuck if he was seriously going to fuck you.” 

This explanation seems to satisfy you. Your puffy, red eyes finally stop producing tears. They’re far away and searching, like you’re deep in thought. 

“It’s fucked up that he would even consider it, let alone encourage it,” Dieter scratches the scruff on his neck and mutters, “Where’d you even find this guy, Lua?”

You shrug and take a deep, shaky breath, exhaling the residual cobwebs of sorrow that accumulated while you cried, “Jusss tinder.”

“Tinder,” he repeats with disdain, looking around the room at anything except your beautiful face, “Having any luck on there?” 

“Sss fine for what I need,” you inhale deep and unfold yourself, stretching your hands and feet as far away from your body as they can reach. The tank top you’re wearing pulls up and exposes a generous helping of your mid-drift. You let out a squeak and arch into the stretch. He has to avert his eyes to keep from ogling at the curve of your breasts that peak out from beneath the shirt. 

“And what’s that?” he looks down at the bottle of whiskey, then raises it to his lips, taking a big, burning swallow. 

You shake out your limbs, then look from the armrest, to him, “Can I lay m’ head on your lap? Looks comfy.”  

Dieter stammers, “Oh, uh… yeah, sure.” 

He makes room for you, leaning his back against the velvet couch as you scoot over and lay your head in his lap, draping your legs across the arm rest. Mentally, he pleads with his dick to not make a fool of him. The army green cotton shorts he’s wearing are thin and loose, and will absolutely not fucking conceal any kind of rumblings down under. 

“Hookups,” you tell him, looking up with a devious smile from your place on his lap, “No strings, y’know.”

“I am all about no-strings-attached,” he touches his fingertips to his chest and grins, peering down at you.  

“Deeeee,” you whine, gripping his free hand and interlacing your fingers with his. His dick jumps at the contact. God damn you. You don’t notice, just snuggle his arm against your chest like it’s a teddy bear and pout, “Can’t hook up with you like those guys. Too, um... stringy.” 

The admission twists his guts up in a confusing knot. He’s feeling numb around the edges, though, and moves past it, chuckling, “Too stringy?”

“I like you too much,” you blink and nod, then reach up and tap your finger to the tip of his nose and giggle, “Boop.”

“You are so fucking drunk, Lua, holy shit,” he starts laughing, hiding the heat spreading across his cheeks. He takes another long swig of whiskey, then snorts, “I’m tryin’ to get on your level.” 

You don't respond except for an amused hum. Some time passes in silence, your hands clasped together, huddled against the warmth of your chest. Sweat pooling between your skin and his. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the couch. In this darkness, he can zero in on the thudding of your heart as it pumps blood through your body, keeping you alive. 

He's envious of each blood cell that gets to course through your veins. How they get to know every square inch of you in a way he will never be able to. How they are always within the temple of your body, a civilization of organisms working tirelessly to keep their goddess alive, worshiping you on a microscopic level. 

“Can I tell you a sssecret?” you whisper loudly. His head downswings and he snaps his eyes open to meet yours, all stretched wide and dilated, like a doe's. 

“Hit me,” Dieter advises in a gravelly voice, grateful for your numbness, otherwise you might notice the way his cock is twitching at the sight of you. 

Your clutch on his hand tightens and you grin, “I wanna do this thing with the mirrors. To, mmm, talk to Ethan. With the mirror. I forgot what it’s called,” you frown and tilt your head, “psychomathlium.”

“What is it?” he cackles at the clumsy way the made up word falls from your lips. 

“Hang on-” you sit up, letting go of his hand, and start digging into the creases of the couch. He drinks to the loss. When you find your phone, you hold it above your head victoriously, “AHA!” 

He cannot fucking fathom that you have ever been able to convince yourself you're ugly.

“Gotta find the thing-” you mumble, tapping and sliding your index finger around the screen with one eye open. Dieter notes that the pulls of whiskey he had on the elevator ride up have fully saturated his nervous system, making him feel loose and wavy. You start trying to pronounce a word, only able to get as far as, “psychom-psychom-” 

He outstretches his hand, “Can I see?” 

You drop the phone in his palm, then get comfortable again, resting your head on his crotch. 

“Psychomanteum,” Dieter reads out loud. He crinkles his nose at the description google gives:

In parapsychology and spiritualism, a psychomanteum is a small, enclosed area set up with a comfortable chair, dim lighting, and a mirror angled so as not to reflect anything but darkness intended to communicate with spirits of the dead.

“Yes!” you snatch the phone from his grip to scroll down the screen, then toss it on the floor haphazardly. He watches your face fall from excitement to sadness, and your voice comes out small when you say, “I wanna ask him why.”

“Ask him why, what?” 

“Why he tried to kill us,” you answer, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He searches your face in confusion, but you're staring off into the distance, paying him no mind. His hair stands on end. 

“What do you mean?” Dieter asks hesitantly. 

“He crashed the car on purpose,” you close your eyes and stretch your hands above your head, “But he wouldn’t tell me why.”

He recalls the car ride from the diner in February, the frantic whimpers that fled your lips when you were asleep. The only discernible phrase Dieter could hear was, “Slow down, not buckled-” 

There are a million questions that cross his mind. Was he abusive? Was he drunk? Did he say anything to you? What fucking happened, Lua? 

When considering which question to lead with, it dawns on him that asking right now wouldn’t be fair to you. Even if the questions itch the insides of his throat. He wants you to want to tell him, and won’t try to divulge your secrets when you’re in a vulnerable state. 

“So… you want to make a psychomanteum?” he drags his eyes around your stonewalled face. 

“Mmmhmm," you nod loosely. The motion grazes your head against the soft length of him and generates a lusty ache deep inside his groin. With a sigh, you flick your eyes to his and admit, "I’m too scared to do it by myself, though. Sss why you shoul' do it with me.” 

“Right… right now?” Dieter’s eyes widen. 

“Why not?” you shrug. 

His brain sloshes around in his skull as he shakes his head vigorously, “No. No no no. We’re not going to drunk dial your dead husband, who tried to murder you, via mirror.” 

Your laugh is squeaky and delirious, and you throw your hands over your face as you snort, “Well, when you put it like that…” 

“I do, I do put it like that,” Dieter finalizes. His fingers are filled with energy when he thinks about how soft your hair looks, and he wills himself not to run them through the strands, then he mumbles, “What else do you wanna do?”

“Fuck?” you look up at him with hopeful eyes. Hopeful, half-open, completely offline eyes. 

Yes.  

“Absolutely not,” he chuckles, resisting the urge to rub his thumb against your cheek, and a spark jolts his insides when he tells you, “Maybe tomorrow. But right now you are trashed. Next idea.” 

“Hmmm,” you scrunch your face up and tap your index finger to your chin, then your face lights up, “Wanna lay in bed and watch shitty TV?” 

“Let’s do it,” Dieter smiles. 

You jump up a little too quick and stumble sideways before gaining your footing with a giggle, then you start down the hallway. 

He follows you, but stops dead in tracks at the closed door next to the kitchen when he thinks he hears something inside. His smile fades as a darkness with weight settles on his shoulders. It seeps into his bones, doubling their weight, pulling his soul to the ground. 

You pop into the doorway of your bedroom, backlit by the bright ceiling light inside, with a great big gorgeous smile on your face. Your hand extends towards him, “Come on! Do you want umm… pajamas?”

“Is there someone in there?” Dieter furrows his brow and points to the closed door. 

“Not… really,” your eyes flick to the door and you shift your weight to one hip, then clamp your lips shut with your teeth and avoid his gaze. 

That’s a weird fucking answer. But the twisting in his guts tells him he doesn’t want to know more than that. 

“I’ll, um… I’m gonna use the bathroom first,” he mumbles, then averts his eyes as he skirts by you into the bathroom. He closes the door and takes a deep breath, pressing his palms against the bathroom counter over the sink. 

That wretched feeling sucks him towards the center of the earth. Like he’s sinking in a tarpit. He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his shorts and digs around to see if, by some divine miracle, a bag of coke has magically spawned inside. No such luck. 

Maybe he can just ignore that insatiable burning in his chest. The yearning that’s pulling all the skin in his body too tight for comfort. That chronic emptiness that just intensified tenfold. 

What the fuck is in that room? 

He looks up in the mirror. The man that stares back at him looks like shit. Darkness like bruises stain the tear troughs under his pained eyes. His skin is dull and lifeless. Fuck, he just looks hollow. Like those vacant-eyed chocolate rabbits people gift children on Easter Sunday. No life to be found here. Nobody's home. 

With a sigh, he leaves the bathroom, flipping the light switch off behind him. A sickening shudder runs down his spine when he crosses the hallway to your bedroom. 

An image splices itself into his mind’s eye just for a second. Just one single frame of a man’s inky black shadow, somehow darker than the darkness of the room. 

A warning. 

Inexplicably, he understands that’s what it is: a warning. 

Then he steps through the threshold of your bedroom and he’s doused in artificial light. The room, its cream colored walls littered with colorful paintings and shelves of plants, feels different than the rest of the apartment. A plush white rug covers most of the hardwood floor. One large window, visible through the sheer emerald green curtains, runs parallel to the length of your bed, opposite the doorway. 

It feels… safe. 

You’re laying on your side, hugging a pillow, one leg hooked over the edge of the rust-colored comforter. The flesh of your thigh is exposed to the air. The swell of your ass catches the light. His fingers twitch as they think about how your skin would give under their grip. 

He imagines what it would be like to sink his teeth into you.

“You comin’ or what?” you mumble without breaking your line of sight from the tv mounted in the corner of the room. He shakes the depraved thoughts from his head and approaches the other side of the bed, eying the side table drawer that displays a photo of you and Ethan on a beach somewhere with white sands and perfectly tranquil turquoise water. 

He looks up at the cavernous black doorway. That warning churns his stomach again. 

But then his gaze flicks to you, and you’re looking back at him with your eyebrows drawn together over doe eyes. He thinks of you having to go to bed every night alone in this depressing fucking apartment. With a sigh, he pulls the covers back and crawls between the white sheets.  

All of a sudden he doesn’t know what to do with his extremities. How does he normally lay in bed? Surely, not like he is now. Like a corpse boxed into a coffin. 

Is it offensive to think that in a dead man’s spot? 

You cut him off from his spiraling thoughts as you tug on his shirt and mumble, “Dee?”

He doesn’t say anything, just turns his head to look at you.

“Can you cuddle me?”

There’s such a childlike innocence to the way you ask him this question. It’s all pink hubba bubba and Saturday morning cartoons. He can tell the intention is not romantic or sexual. It’s just comfort. 

So he nods and hums in a gravelly voice, “Yeah, come here, doll." 

You kick your legs all the way under the blankets and wiggle closer as he wraps an arm around you. Your body settles against his, cheek to his chest, one arm draped across his belly. His hand lands on your hip. It feels natural and innocuous, so he doesn’t move. 

It’s like you’re hit by a tranquilizer. Your body melts into his with such ease. His rigid muscles go lax, too. The colorful noise on the TV is just background. 

“I miss this part the most,” you whisper the statement like it’s a secret. 

He hums in acknowledgement and closes his eyes, sinking further into contentment. 

“Do you?” you ask in a yawn.

“Do I what?”

“Y’know, miss cuddling with your wife?” 

Dieter remembers the hotel room off the coast of Italy, the day after he and Anika were married. White curtains flapping in the breeze off the Grand Canal. Late morning chatter floating up through the open windows. 

Her back was pressed against his chest, a layer of sweat gluing them together. His nose was buried in her golden hair, breathing in the floral bouquet of the flowers that were anchored in her locks 24 hours prior. Their breathing moved in sync. He felt a warmth spread across his body as he marinated in the moment. 

He blinked his eyes open, waking at his own pace. When he adjusted his head to peer up at the frescoed ceiling, he studied the cherubs playing in the fluffy white clouds that decorated the sky blue background. His mouth moved in the shape of a silent word. 

Too afraid to say it out loud, too bold to keep it inside. It’s what that morning was, though, he was sure of it. 

Heaven. 

At home in their bed, dozens of times in those first few months, she would nuzzle into him as they fell asleep. As they woke up. After sex. While watching movies. Doing nothing at all. His lips spelled out the muted confession. 

Heaven. 

“I do,” he whispers his secret in exchange for yours. Evening the scales. Or whatever. 

“Do you love her?”

His skin tightens as the question bubbles between the layers. He gnashes his jaw back and forth as he considers this. 

In contrast to the months of content cuddling and hot sex, here were months of him reaching across the mattress in the dark, asking, “Can I hold you?” or “Can you hold me?” or “Annie, please, can you just look at me?” 

He was always met with silence. 

One night he quietly admitted, “I feel like a ghost each time I come home.” 

To which she responded, “A ghost wouldn’t leave me here with no one,” then got up to sleep in another bedroom. By the next morning, she looked right through him again. A phantom in his own home. 

It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. 

Dieter thinks about the divorce petition his lawyer, Gene, received from Anika’s lawyer. He has 3 more days to respond before the decision could default. Gene left him a voicemail earlier today explaining that defaulting could result in millions of dollars lost. 

But he can’t bring himself to sign it. 

If he signs it, it’s real. They’re divorced. Anika will go back to Europe. He would rather die than live in that huge, empty house without her. Each room haunted by memories of her, the good and the bad. 

“Do you love Ethan?” he finally returns when he’s unable to come up with an answer. 

“Yeah,” you breathe a sad chuckle, then sniffle, “That’s why I don’ understand.”

A split-second vision of a man-shaped black hole in the other bedroom invades his brain. The alarm bells start ringing as a shiver runs down his back and clutches his guts. But he swallows hard, clears his throat, and declares, ”We’ll do the psychomanteum tomorrow.” 

“Really?” you roll around to face him, and his hand slides to the small of your back. He’s acutely aware of the pads of his fingers resting on your soft skin. How tempting it is to set them into motion, to feel more of you. 

“Yeah,” he answers. Your face erupts in this big, beautiful smile that is contagious, making him grin despite the storm roiling inside him. 

Then your gaze flicks to his mouth and back to his eyes in a question. A question that divides him as his tongue slides along his lower lip subconsciously. You search his face for an answer, leaning forward enough that he inhales the whiskey taste on your breath. 

Your hand reaches up and your nails rake through his hair. A shudder rattles his spine and sucks the air from his lungs. The ache he feels when he holds himself back is torture. 

“Why don’t we go to bed, Lua?” he rumbles. 

You place your thumb on his lower lip and run it along the edge, sending a tremble down the center of him. His eyes flutter shut, and he feels your whisper hot against his skin, “Sss that what you wanna do?” 

No. Absolutely fucking not. 

But the slurring in your speech reminds him how fucked up you are, and the warning is twisting its way through his intestines. 

“Yeah,” he decides, opening his eyes to flash you a gloomy smirk. 

Your features sag in disappointment and you draw back, tucking yourself into his side with your head against his chest. You mutter, “Sorry.” 

The pain in your voice is apparent. You’ll get over it, though, once you return to sobriety and realize it would have been a mistake. 

“Do you want me to turn the lights off?” he asks, frowning up at the brassy ceiling light illuminating the room. 

“No,” you yawn, “Dark is scary.” 

He glances over at the darkness hovering on the other side of the open doorway and nods in agreement, “Ok.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and he thinks that maybe you’ve fallen asleep, until you mumble out, “Are you gonna leave when I’m asleep?” 

“Do you want me to?" 

"No."

"Then I won't."

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

But when your breaths get long and deep, and all the residual tension held in your tenuous state of consciousness slackens, the gnawing at his brain starts again. The Big Empty, gutting him and carving him out like a jack-o-lantern.

His eyes are fixed on the TV, but it’s just lights and noise. Nothing is absorbing. All he can think about is how much he wants to get rid of this sinking feeling. He may have promised you he’d stay, but would you really remember? Or would you be more likely to freak the fuck out when you wake up from your blackout next to him? 

Really, he’d be doing you a favor by leaving.

He takes a deep breath in and slowly releases it into the bedroom, then cautiously reaches down into his shorts pocket and fishes out his iPhone. There’s an unread message. 

> GLENN: > You coming out?

His molars catch the smooth inside of his cheek and bite down. A soft little snore emits from your throat. His eyes flick to the dark bedroom doorway and the tar pit of sadness starts sucking him down. Static vibrates hot in his veins. He texts back. 

< ME: < Yeah. Where? 

When you wake, it’s with a start, eyes snapping open with anxiety as you’re catapulted into consciousness. Your TV is blaring 90 Day Fiancé and the bedroom lights are still on. You sit upright and notice the covers are drawn back on Ethan’s side of the bed. 

Stomach acid rises in your throat as you start patting down your surroundings in search of your phone, taking a deep breath of relief when you pull it out from beneath your pillow. Two unread texts, sent hours apart. 

> DEE:  > Going to liquor store then I’ll be there

> DEE:  > Sorry, had to go. Text me when u wake up. 

You drop your phone and lay back down, covering your face with your hands as you groan out loud, “What the fuck did I do?” 

With your eyes clamped shut, you try to recount the night before. Pouring glasses of wine while talking to your mother on the phone. She was crying, telling you about how she was having a difficult time dealing with Ethan’s death. She doesn't understand why you’re not as sad as everyone else. She informed you that when her husband died, she was practically bedridden for a year. 

Like you don't remember. Like you weren't the one that picked up her slack to avoid living on the street. 

“Just because I’m not calling you bawling or posting bullshit on social media doesn’t mean I’m not fucking sad, mom,” you growled, then emptied the Pinot Grigio into your glass. 

Shockingly, she did not appreciate this. Her voice assaulted your ear drums from hundreds of miles away as she snipped, “Well I’m sorry for being a human with feelings, not a robot.” 

When you wouldn’t dignify her comment with a response, she continued to bait you, “I thought I could count on you of all people to know how I feel, but I guess not.” 

You rolled your eyes and put back the glass of wine like it was a shot of liquor. 

“Now I know better.” 

A pause to wait for your non-existent response. 

“Now I know better than to bother you with my feelings again. Nope, can’t talk to Louella unless it’s about her, isn’t that right? All about you.” 

That exceeded your limit for bullshit. 

“Yeah, that’s definitely what I’m doing right now, mom, making it all about me,” you scoffed, then hung up on her. 

After this, you dug out a bottle of whiskey from the back of a kitchen cabinet. You rejected her calls until you got drunk enough to not give a fuck if she went to voicemail or not, laughing out loud to yourself as each voicemail notification popped up on your screen, "Fill it up, bitch, I don't give a fuuuuuck!”

You remember snippets from there forward. Sexting with some guy on tinder. Dieter’s text letting you know his flight landed, asking where to meet you. The desperate urge to fuck. Laying in bed with Dieter. 

Your stomach clenches and you groan again when you remember trying to get him to kiss you. He rejected you. 

You lift your phone and send a text to him.

< ME:  < Gooood morning sunshine. Please tell me I didn’t make a total ass of myself last night. 

To your surprise, he responds immediately. 

> DEE: > Lol no way  < ME:  < Do you still want to hang out with me? Hahahaha  > DEE: > Obviously  > U hungry?  < ME:  < Only if you’re bringing food here 👀  < I look like shit and refuse to be seen in public  > DEE: > Impossible for u to look like shit lol fucking goddess  > Be there soon 

Your stomach flips upside down and makes you dizzy. Last night’s inconsolable desire to be fucked hard returns with a vengeance. A tingle twists at the your center when you imagine what Dieter would be like in bed. 

You’ve been on the phone with him while he was painting and drawing. He seems to get lost in a trance sometimes, rambling out the narration of his creative process. Messy, passionate strokes. An intuition for detail. Would he do the same with your body as his canvas?

You roll on your side to look at the empty half of the bed. Guilt that’s heavy and blue pools in your chest. It feels like a betrayal to wish Dieter would have accepted your advances. 

It’s not like you haven’t been having sex. You’ve actually been very successful in keeping your sexual needs met. There’s a divine kind of peace you find with another body pressed against yours as you work towards mutual ascension. They touch you in delicious ways that make your sorrows melt away, then you never have to deal with them again. Anonymous orgasm donors that you scrub from existence at the first opportunity. It’s exactly what you need. 

That, wherein, lies the problem with Dieter. You don’t want to never have to deal with him again. In fact, you like having to deal with him. He’s goofy, fun to talk to, and says nice shit like fucking goddess. You don’t want to dispose of him. 

With a sigh, you drag yourself out of bed and into the shower. The hot water falls on your head, washing your sins down the drain. A baptism into this new day. 

“How you feeling now, doll?” Dieter asks as you curl up into yourself, resting your head on a black and white checkered pillow. The greasy, tangy scent of Chinese food lingers from half-eaten takeout boxes that litter the end table on the other side of the arm rest, only about a foot away from your face. 

You groan, “Still terrible. I can’t believe I invited some fucking rando to my apartment. I’m so sorry, but also thank you for telling him to fuck off.”  

He chuckles, “Relax, forget it.” 

“Also,” your heart pounds in your chest when you lift your gaze to his, studying his reaction, “Thank you for, um… not… letting me kiss you.” 

The corners of his mouth turn down as he sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, “You were pretty drunk, I figured you would regret it.” 

You sit up and lean away from the now repugnant smell of lo mein, scooting closer to Dieter, admitting, “I haven’t, um… kissed anyone since, you know, Ethan died.” 

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “Really?”

“Yeah,” your face heats up and you continue to stammer, “I’ve like… hooked up with people or whatever, but that’s… different. I- I don’t know.“ 

“I believe ‘no-strings-attached’ is the phrase you used,” he smirks, turning his head to search your face. 

“Oh, is it?” you laugh, throwing your head back and covering your face in embarrassment, “Of course I told you that.” 

“That reminds me-”

“Fucking hell,” you groan and drop your head to your chest, mentally preparing for the next embarrassing thing that blackout you did. 

“No no no, I told you I’d do the psychomanteum with you today,” he tells you. 

Your breath catches. The betrayal you feel towards yourself is deep and cutting. Why would you fucking tell him about wanting to do that? You frown and turn to him, “What did I tell you?” 

“I- um, I mean,” he stammers, shifting in his seat as he crosses one leg over the other and looks up at the TV, “You told me that he tried to kill you both. And you wanted to um... to ask him why.” 

Shards of glass slice through the soft innards of your belly. Shame, hot and red and viscus, floods from the wounds and fills you to the top. You bring your knees to your chest and hug them tight, folding in on yourself, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t need to tell you about that.” 

“Wait, why are you apologizing?” he sounds bewildered. 

You shake your head and shrug, unable to come up with an answer. Your skin burns with embarrassment and you wish you could disappear. 

“Hey,” the couch next to you shifts and his palm presses against your back as he rumbles, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but if you wanna do the mirror thing, I’ll do it with you.” 

A sigh expands your lungs and you turn your head to look at him. His puppy dog eyes search your face for a clue as to what you’re thinking. Tears burn the backs of your eyes and you choke out, “I feel like an idiot for telling you about it. I don’t know.” 

He hums and rubs the back of his neck. Tilts his head from side to side, then scratches his chin as he tells you, “When I was a teenager, I had a friend named James.”

You sit up straight and furrow your brow at him. He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees, “We were military brats, both our families were stationed at Fort Lejeune in North Carolina.” 

One of his legs starts bouncing rapidly and he traces the lines of his palm. You reach out and grab his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, then give him a firm squeeze of encouragement. He glances over, meeting your gaze. His eyes are tear-brimmed and bloodshot. You nod, as if to prod him forward. 

He frowns and drops his eyes to your clasped hands, then continues, “We had to move. I wrote and called him for months, but I never got a response, so I gave up. A year after we moved, I found out that he, um… he drowned in the river.” 

“Oh, Dee-” you breathe, and tears tingle behind your nose and eyes before they overflow onto your cheeks. 

“I’ve tried to contact him on a ouija board more times than I care to admit,” a sad little chuckle bubbles up from his chest, out his nose, “So, yeah, I get it. Wanting answers, closure, all that."

You nod and watch him, studying the tics in his facial muscles. He’s obviously lost in the expanse of his brain. Your thumb sets itself into motion, smoothing a circle against his hand. He takes a sharp breath in and looks up, shaking himself out of his trance, then says, “Anyway. I’ll do it, too. See if I can talk to him.”

An ache of affection radiates across your chest. You sigh, feigning annoyance as you grin and squeeze his hand, then release him to wipe away the tears on your face, “Fine. Ok. Let’s do it.” 

[ Next Chapter ]

[microraptorreactor]

Chapters 2 and 3, let's go!

A random note, I'm going st start reffering to chapters how they are labeled in-doc. What's the in-doc labeling? It looks like this!

The indivigual chapters are labled by the animal I want the chapter title to be, and divided into segments based on POV. So while C. 3 is Meles Meles on the archive, if I had the animal naming scheme at the time I would have it marked as {Badger} while it was in progress, and (Badger) when it was finished. The brackets mark if a chapter is done and if the title animal is one I want to call back to. () means a finished chapter that won't be called back to, [] is a chapter that will be called back to, and {} is a chapter that isn't finished. So yes, for a time a couple chapters were writen as '{[]}' XD

But anyways. Onto Badger and Painted Dog. I kinda don't have a whole lot to say about these two chapters exept for a couple very specific moments. They are exposition chapters, and they serve their purpose.

This is one of my favorite sudtle themes in this work tbh. Like, Wils has a point. She often has a point, the problem is she burrys it under so many layers of terrible abuse its easy to ignore. Corprate did buy a prototype and toss it into a bad situation. And while Wils is makeing its problems worse, V2 was always in a bad situation. Coming in as a young child to replace something that could keel over dead at any moment is terrible.

The second point, V2's domestication. Whether or not V2 counts as a dove (which are domestic robots, if anyone somehow missed what doves represent) is never truly called into question by anyone other then V2 and Hell. It's wild, but its wildness has an off switch. Its domestic, but it finds its tusks the moment it slips its (metaphorical) harness.

As Saavi says this, MF-438 "Malibu" is liveing it up in the Lust layer. Seriously. Hell turned her back on (for funsies) and she's contributing to society. Mal is the one character who is built up to be mega doomed/already dead but turns out to be fine. She still hasn't seen the sky tho.

Time for 4: Painted Dog!

Love these two paragraphs. Introduses V2's love of cozy and imminant destruction in one fell swoop. I think if I ever had to give someone an example of what reading SftBT is like, it would be these two paragraphs.

Ooohhh fun fact about this! It's a holdover from the original draft where Baeri was compleatly innocent. Like it had done absolutly nothing wrong and was just. A normal assistant. Obviously that was super boreing, the one thing I regret about changeing from that draft was a very cool scene where Julyen fed Baeri a live rabbit/dove/other small animal. The specific animal changed a lot before the scene was cut.

That's probably one of the only cut scenes I sometimes regret taking out of the work. In the original version, Baeri was ordered to kill and eat the animal and later confided to V2 that it didn't like eating live prey. Since that didn't make much sence when I rewrote Baeri to be a feral little beast, later versions had Baeri be ambivilent towards live feeds. And then I realized that the original purpose of the scene was gone, so it got scrapped.

Yeah so this right here is the first time Baeri hacked into V2's systems. It's been here the whole time lol.

Elber pal buddy you aren't helping. Like he's trying his best but my word, this whole conversation is a train wreak.

Here's a little bonus, this is the Allegiances page I slapped together for this work! Features a couple background characters and everyone's last names.

Birdcatt's live author reactions to their own works looks fun I'm gonna steal that. Live author reaction ahead.

[chimeracowgirl]

Eren Jaeger College Headcanon

modern!au / college!eren / stoner!eren

tw: drug use / mentions of alcohol

(Hi! This is my first headcanon. I’m open to feedback and recommendations! I really enjoyed making this and want to get better so by all means, let me know your thoughts and if there’s any other characters you would like me to do!)

✶ I’ve seen people head canon Eren as undecided and I completely agree! Though when he has to make a decision I see him gravitating towards Philosophy.

✶ Probably chose this major because it gives him the space to still explore and challenge his views at the same time. Also something he can apply to his everyday life/conversations 

✶ When people (Jean) tease him and ask what he’s gonna do with his degree he  responds with a “fuck off”. Like he’s literally just trying to spend his years learning about something he’s interested in??? Don’t stress him further

✶ Schedules his classes no earlier than 9:30 am. He’s not one to wake up super early to then sit in a lecture trying to focus on the material AND stay awake but he also doesn’t want his schedule to run so late into his day

✶ Doesn’t make time for breakfast but will usually snag a granola bar or something until he has a free period where he can actually eat

✶ Definitely smokes before classes. Not always but if there’s time and he’s feeling it, he’ll do so.

✶ Makes sure to always attend his classes with a water bottle. Helps with his cotton mouth

✶ He’ll try to air out or spray cologne to mask the scent but not too much since Armin once called him out for reeking like the whole bottle sfhghkk

✶ And no he doesn't use Axe body spray 🙄 Zeke put him on to some designer scents. His favorite is Bleu De Chanel (earthy and woody with sandalwood notes)  

✶ Genuinely enjoys debates (although they can get a little heated) 

✶ Only has like 2 pens and a highlighter which he usually ends up losing so he’ll have to ask someone for one

✶ Messy notes. His writing is kinda small and the lettering is inconsistent but it’s readable if you focus hard enough

✶ More of verbal and visual learner. He needs the material to be dissected to it’s core and has to see it so he can piece it all together

✶ HAS A NAP SPOT AND GETS UPSET IF HE EVER SEES SOMEONE ELSE THERE

✶ Wants to wake them up to reclaim “his” territorry but instead just goes to his study spot to rest

✶ Needs a quiet atmosphere to study. Likes to be tucked away in the corner of the library or cafe, where he’ll listen to lo-fi music alone or studying alongside Armin/Mikasa and sometimes Jean

✶ I don’t think he’d play a sport in college bc of the amount of stress that already comes with being a student and baby is just not with that mental overload

✶ Not too big on parties but will attend bc it’s apart of the experience. 

✶ When he is there though you won’t find him in the crowd (sometimes he’ll make a rare appearance) 

✶ Instead he’s either in the back playing drinking games or smoking 

✶ Has a competition with Jean on who has the most wins. Jean’s in the lead by ONE game and Eren is determined to take back the title

✶ Not a messy drunk, he can handle his liquor well but he’s also down for whatever adventures the night bring. 

✶ I see him being a flirt unintentionally. He just has this boyish charm and teasing personality but there’s no hidden motive behind it. Definitely doesn't realize how attractive he really is to people but that doesn't mean he’s blind to his looks

✶ Mix that with him being high and ugh. Droopy lids and that smirk!!! People are gonna be walking around campus with snail trails bc of how wet he makes them and he DOESNT EVEN KNOW IT!! (oblivious mf 🙄)

✶ As we all know his closet consists of hoodies and sweats but he does like to add some spice when he’s feeling it! So he’s one to lightly layer (otherwise he’d get too hot n sticky and no.) and has his fair share of vintage tees from thrifting with Armin. 

✶ Keeps his dorm fairly clean. Probably has solid color sheets with a couple posters hung up and a gaming system 

✶ Spends most of his time outside his dorm though. Feels it’s too small of a space and makes him a lil anxious if he’s there for too long

✶ Overall, he’s just here to do whatever he desires in the moment while trying to balance learning about himself and the world all while being graded for it :)

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Again, let me know how I did and if there’s other characters you’d like me to write for. Also if you want visuals of Eren’s (or others) dorm, style, etc :)

[wordynerdygurl]

A Wonderful Christmastime

Author’s Note:  Well Hello All!  I hope that you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying well!  My tag-list is open and you know I love the validation of reblogs, shares, tags and adds!! I have been working on a larger OC story which has kept my from my Loki writings, but I entered a challenge posted by @toomanystoriessolittletime​ for the Christmas holiday.  If you aren’t following, please do as she’s got a great little Advent Calendar of seasonal stories for you!  One a day through the month of December!  

I chose a prompt based off of my least favorite Christmas song.  Ever.  Like in the history of humanity.  Like, my family torture me with it because of how much I dislike it.  This story is a chance to take a little lighthearted revenge on Sir Paul McCartney and also, hopefully, help you all enjoy a Wonderful Christmastime!   Also, isn’t this gif the cutest thing in the world?  My thanks to the OP and creator for it... it’s amazing and I love Christmas Loki!! Pairing:  Female Reader x Loki

Summary:  Everyone has a favorite holiday song... when Loki learns which one you dislike, he uses it to his advantage. Warnings:  Christmas holiday mentions, SMUT, Oral (F receiving) and MF Sex, also, the over use of a certain song that makes me, personally, crazy!

This was it.  That perfect moment when all of the holiday hustle was behind you.  Nothing to buy, nothing to ship, nothing to wrap, nothing to bake.  It was all over.  You had made it through another Christmas Eve.

Your well decorated tree sat in the corner, presents tucked below for you and Loki in the morning.  The frittata was resting in the fridge along with the two bottles of Prosecco you planned to have with brunch.  Hell, it was the holidays, after all.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight you were relaxing after an afternoon of family Christmas fun.  Nieces and nephews, piles of shredded paper, stacks of snacks and so much laughter your belly muscles were sore.  And through it all Loki had been a champ! Holding your hand, rubbing the small of your back, pulling out your chair; Loki had put the other partners to shame.  Whether he was telling bawdy but tasteful jokes to the men who drank cheap beer around the TV, sharing hair care tips with your sister’s oldest girl or whispering with your mom in the kitchen, he was always where he needed to be.  For the first time in ages, you had been able to enjoy the day fully, and you knew Loki was the reason why. After getting home, trading your dress and boots for comfy shorts and a sweatshirt, you padded into the living room.  Loki was there, sitting cross legged, digging through your bag of swag.  He had put seasonal music on in the background while munching through a plate of Auntie’s sugar cookies, two well poured goblets of red wine waiting to be had at his side.  God, he was good. “Is one of those for me?”  You couldn’t help smiling.  Loki, looking like a little kid, over excited and surrounded by all the trapping of Christmas just felt so precious. It took him a moment to reply as he was solely focused on the handmade puzzle box your mother had crafted for all the guys this year, “Hmm?  Yes… one’s for you…” Kissing the top of his head, careful not to dislodge his Rudolf blinking antler headband, a gift to Loki from your youngest nephew, you moved towards the couch.  Sipping from your glass of wine, snuggled under the softest chenille blanket your sister-in-law could find, you sighed contentedly.  Victory over the holiday season felt amazing.  Now all that was left on your to-do list was eating, drinking, and enjoying alone time with Loki until New Year’s.  Suddenly exhausted, you felt the lovely warm drag of drowsiness and snuggled deeper into the sofa.  Shuttering your tired eyes, you listened as Loki stood up, off to hunt up some more food, no doubt.  Visions of sugarplums danced in your head as you started to succumb to a sweet slumber. That’s when you heard it.  

“The moon is right, The spirit’s up, We’re here tonight and that’s enough…” Groaning, wide awake now, you sat up with a shout, “Loki?!”  Like magic his raven head popped around the doorframe, his reindeer antlers askew, a candy cane hanging out of his mouth, “Yes?”

“Um… question:  What are we listening to?” Stepping back into the living room, his new holiday flannel shirt open at the neck, Loki leaned over you, husking playfully,  “Music.  At least, that’s what I believe you Midgardians call it.” “Ha ha.  Yes, I know it’s music, but this particular song?”  You couldn’t keep the tartness from your tone as you pressed your nose into the handsome one on Loki’s face. Pausing, listening intently, Loki cocked his head to the side.  Singing along, his bells jingling, “Simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!” “Ugh.  That’s what I was afraid of!”  Flinging a hand over your eyes, you grumbled, burrowing back into the cozy couch as a means of blocking out the obnoxious noise of the worst holiday song in the history of humanity. Making himself comfortable at your feet, pouring himself another glass of vino, “I like it.  It’s simple.  Direct.  What are you doing?  Me?  I’m simply having a wonderful Christmastime!” From deep in the cushions, muffled but forceful, you pleaded, “Make it stop!  Please!” “What for?  It is still Christmastime, is it not?  And we are enjoying a wonderful time, aren’t we?” Turning back to face him, a Scrooge-like scowl on your suddenly serious face, “I’ll do anything to get you to turn that off.” That got his attention, “Anything?”  Sitting up quickly, you reached for your blanket only to feel Loki snatching it out of your grasp, “You said anything, darling.” Tugging on the plush fabric, practically pouting, “You’re not going to take my new fluffy blankie, are you?” “Oh no.  That’s not nearly enough to stop me from playing my favorite Christmas carol.”

“It’s your favorite, now?  Loki, you just heard it.” Waving your gripes away, pinning you under his arms and under your blanket, “I love it.  It’s my favorite.  You can’t mess with perfection.”

You wiggled, trying to free an arm or a hand, anything to help defend yourself from Loki’s soft, but effective attack, "Perfection?  Loki, it's awful."

"I disagree.  But…”  Brushing a gentle kiss to your captive lips, making you melt into his warm touch, Loki made sure to keep you immobile.  Unraveling under his ardent attention, you gave up fighting, focusing on Loki’s roving hands through the protective layer of your new throw.  

Lost in his lips, you ignored the wretched recording still spinning, until sitting back with a sly smile Loki continued, “Regardless of my newly acquired antlers, I am a reasonable man.  I'm willing to hear your side of things.  Convince me, dove."

Looking up at him through your lashes, licking over your bottom lip that tasted of Loki's peppermint, it took you a moment to refocus on your argument.  Sighing doggedly, “It’s just garbage.  Too sweet, too synth-pop.  It’s plastic.  There’s no substance to it.”

At least Loki did you the service of considering your answer.  He paused, listening to the offending tune, starting to hum along once more.  “I don’t know.  It sounds like church bells ringing.  And I like when the kids start singing!”

“You couldn't.  Those are two of the worst things about it!  There’s not a single redeemable factor in it’s trite,  super saccharine, four minute run time.”  Agitated now and edging into anger, your voice kept rising, spurned on by the inability to get away from Loki’s plush prison, “Also, get off me!” “Can’t do it.  But-” nuzzling into your neck, tasting along the tendon there, “-I can replay this song.”  “That’s it!”  Fury tinted your words as you tried harder than ever to break free of your fleece prison but Loki was brick heavy, unmovable, and impossibly giddy at your predicament.  All things which only added fuel to your fire.  Wriggling like mad, struggling to kick a foot free, you squirmed desperately for leverage.  His response?  A deep chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, darling?”  Laying those long, lanky bones on top of you, holding down the throw’s corners in a way that made fighting futile, Loki smirked at your distress, “I still don’t see why you hate it so much.  It is a simple song because we’re simply having a wonderful Christmastime!  It’s in the title after all.” With cheeks hot from exertion, fully frustrated and forced to listen to Paul McCartney’s bland holiday ballad start a second time, you nearly shrieked, "I hate it, Loki!  Loathe it, really!  The lyrics are basic, the keyboard is tinny, and Sir Paul is better than that!” “Is that all?” “No!  It's even worse when someone else sings it, like those kids from Glee or an up and coming Country artist making their first holiday record!"

Beneath the blanket your chest rose and fell with bothered breaths.  From rubbing against the couch your hair stuck up in odd angles and you could feel heat rising off your neck.  How had you gone from almost asleep to a blanket related battle royale?  Loki, taking advantage of your confinement, kissed your forehead sweetly, and the change in tactic caught you off guard.  His lips grazed the tip of your nose as you huffed out a pout, eager to see where his mischief making would lead.  Pressing his forehead to yours, that deep sonorous voice whispering lowly for your ears alone, "Not a compelling enough argument for me to turn it off, I'm afraid." And to your holiday horror the song in question started again.  Grousing, "Don’t play it again!  Please!  I’m begging you!” “Already begging darling?”  Thick with mocking, Loki slotted himself between your thighs, keeping you from fighting back with any power. Whining full out now, poking out your bottom lip, “Come on!  Please, let me up and turn this off!” “Why, of course, my pearl.”  With no effort on his part, Loki scooped you up, blankie and all, pulling you tightly to his chest.  Gripping your bottom, his fingers firm through the cotton of your pj pants, he squeezed hard enough for you to yelp. “Hey!”  But that’s all you managed before his talented tongue invaded your mouth.  Now the only thing you could hear was the shaky exhale of your shared sighs and your own needy mewls when Loki started to withdraw.

Godly hands drew your thick and comfy sweatshirt over your head, leaving you bare against the cuddly softness of your new blanket, a perfect dichotomy to the heated hardness of Loki’s chest.  With your arms finally free you tangled your hands in the long tresses of your lover, distracted from the awful music by his groan, “Easy darling.” But now that the tables were tipped in your favor, you had no intention of going easy on Loki.  Not after his antics tonight, not a chance.  Tugging hard enough for him to wince, you ground against his lap with a nip to his neck, “Turn it off then.”

“Now, why would I do that?  Aren’t we still enjoying a Wonderful Christmastime?” Bouncing in his lap, purposefully teasing your mischief maker with a smirk, “We were until you let this terrible song play!” Laughing heartily, Loki stroked over your bare shoulder, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek.  “If I wanted to, my darling, I could change your mind.  I could make you adore this song.” “Is that so, Odinson?  I doubt it.”

“Doubt me?  On this, Christmas Eve!  When you know the feelin’s here that only comes once a year?” A confident nod was all he got for an answer.  In a flash you were laying on the soft rug, your legs wrapped over Loki’s and your new blanket tossed to the side.  Fiery kisses to your chest and neck led him to the shell of your ear where he hummed hungrily, “The moon is right, the spirits up…” Enjoying his mouth but not his music, you shoved against his shoulders, panting, “Don’t sing, just kiss me.” Licking into your mouth, Loki’s tongue obliged your need as his hands skated over the curve of your hip, breaking your kiss to croon, “We’re here tonight, dove… and that’s enough.”

“Loki… please stop…”  You fisted his shirt, pulling at the buttons until his muscular torso was under your fingers, strong and solid.  Pushing the plaid cotton off his shoulders, you let your nails drag over Loki’s naked back as you shifted your hips, subtlety be damned. He took the hint.  Nipping a trail over your tummy, Loki kept his eyes on yours as he shucked your shorts, snorting, “No panties?  Naughty!” “If that’s naughty, Loki, then what you’re doing to me is positively evil.” That made your lover grin, his eyebrows lifting in a wickedly Grinchy smile before caressing the inner skin of your thigh with his clever mouth.  Slithering closer to your center, sweeping his tongue in swirls, you couldn’t help the excited shiver he created.  It was enough to block out the terrible song now that you had something more arousing to hold your attention. Using those long, deft fingers, Loki parted your folds with a murmured moan, “You’re so wet, darling.  Maybe you like this song more than you let on?” A curse for him and his rotten taste in Christmas music died in your throat as Loki connected to your sacred skin through a carnal kiss.  Those strong forearms ensured that your knees stayed open wide as his tongue tasted, teasing your clenching cleft, humming with appreciation at your body’s response.  Circling your clit, sucking gently before changing direction and licking your lower lips once more, Loki had you teetering on the cliff of climax in minutes.

Your stomach tensed, ready for release.  Delicious waves of orgasmic bliss were pulsing through you, needing just a touch more friction, a little more pressure in order to crash over you.  Gasping out incoherent whimpers, fingers ruffling Loki’s dark hair, you can’t fight the neediness that he’s created in you. It just feels so incredible, something Loki knows you’re enjoying, “Like that, darling?” Passion clouds your vision as your desire crests, unfulfilled, “You know I do, Loki…” Fingers slide sensually through your slit, his bright eyes on you, “How much?  How much do you like it?” Shaking your head, still foggy with needs unmet, “So much, baby.  I love making love to you so much.” Bumping against your swollen bud, pressing down firmly, Loki begins using his hands to entice you towards ecstasy.  Two fingers enter you easily, delightful, sure, but not as filling as Loki’s hard member.  Reaching for him, you want to lose yourself in loving and being loved by your space god, “Sing for me, dove.” Beseeching you breathlessly, Loki’s hand stills, keeping you at the fringe of falling apart.  Waiting for your reply impatiently he asks again, “Sing, please.” “A song?” His reply is a shake of his dark head.  Slowly, smoothly, Loki withdraws his fingers, only to press them into your yielding flesh once more, “Yes, my darling.  Sing my favorite song!”

Sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh, those fingers of his spreading your walls, the exquisite pressure on your straining clitoris.  Any one of these distractions would have been hard to concentrate through.  Experiencing them all together?  Overwhelming.

And that’s the excuse you would use to explain what happened next.  “The party’s on… The feeling’s here…” As soon as the words left your lips, Loki’s attention resumed in earnest, “That’s it, dove!  Keep going!” “That only comes, this time of year… Ah!  Loki!” Loki watched you lustily.  Your eyes half closed, legs splayed lewdly, a nervous grin on your face.  He never wanted you more.  Slipping out of his jeans, wasting no time, Loki guided his hardened cock into you with a satisfying sigh. Your response to his abundance?  “Oh shit, Loki!  Yes!”  Snapping his hips against your pelvis, iron banded arms clinging to you, Loki stuttered, “I don’t hear you singing!” “We’re simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!”  How many times did you repeat the chorus?  Hard to say.  It became a mantra.  A thing to chant in time with everyone of Loki’s deliberate and deep thrusts. This time, when you felt the familiar stirring of your satisfaction, Loki didn’t stop you.  Encouraging you with a soulful kiss, his stroke surging in time with Paul McCartney’s crooning, you came apart in each other’s arms with a smile.  The song started again and you couldn’t stop the giggles from bursting out of you, “What’s so funny, dove?” “You said you could make me like this terrible, horrible, awful song.” Sitting up and taking you with him, Loki chuckled as he kissed your hand, “Hey, don’t make fun of the best holiday song I have ever heard.”  Pulling your new blanket around the both of you, “I still hate it, but-”

“But?”, his eyebrow arched in surprise, waiting for you to continue.

“But I don’t hate it as much.” Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, playfully ribbing you, “Do I have to force you into having another Wonderful Christmastime?” Biting your bottom lip, you returned the favor by sweeping a stray lock of Loki’s black hair over his shoulder, “Babe, you could make crazy, insane love to me each day and every night… and-” “And?”  Kissing Loki lightly on the nose, you stood up on shaky legs and started towards the hallway.  At the entry way you turned back letting the blanket fall to the floor, “-And Wonderful Christmastime would still suck.”  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To My Many Minxes:  @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith

[birdkittenn]

continuing my live author-pretending-to-be-a-regular-reader reaction

wrath layer fic chapter 1 reaction:

reacting to my author's note. man i just searched up ocean jokes to make the title and then it become puns. also the tooltip code yippee!!!!

based off of the stream where i think it was hakita or victoria who said that sentries have 4 joints

i have an abandoned fic where i actually wrote the installation process. it was. kind of gay. intimacy of having access to the other guy's internal parts and being trusted to handle all of that. unfortunately it was also kind of boring to read and then i hit a wall where i couldn't continue. so i didn't

also the last line from v2 was copy pasted from that scrapped fic

screenshot of part of that scrapped fic

aaaand, for fun, screenshot of part of a scrapped scene in the 4-4 fic. "hanged traffic light" lol. but this was from when part of v2's wings were still intact and usable, but then i ended up going with no part of v2's wings were reusable

the "blue" nickname just kind of stuck in my head. i never planned to make v2 use nicknames but the thought of v2 calling v1 "blue" just didn't leave, so i wrote that in. didn't end up liking it after but then i found a justification to leave it in, so i'm neutral on it. and then v2 became such a pet names person as i continued to write these mfs

i learned like last week or so that maurices are actually immune to rocket launchers. the rockets just bounce off of them. im not rewriting that sentence though because that was based off of how i actually died in the cyber grind once and i was sooo mad about it

made that style of dialogue the fuck up on the spot. i was like i cant use the feed.......what else can i use.......and then i just did this. dont know if i'll ever reuse this since its somewhat of a cyber grind exclusive

oh this is fun. it's meant to be like, when you're caught in the waves and you keep rolling around

hehe. big thank you to the creator of the tooltip code

v2 slip up moment. glad to see it still reads fine. i use ward/charge interchangeably but lately ive been leaning towards using charge

i was imagining this

i asked a friend to read over this section because i wanted to imply that v2 has interacted with a real actual child before. but my ideas have changed and i don't think im keeping that part in

gay. also the cord loosens because v2 definitely noticed that and proceeded to blank a little. action of a guy who's trying to ignore the crush he has on the object of his affection when said object keeps doing gay shit

[internal v2 monologue voice] "i really want to hold it super close to me but its going to hate me so much for that so im going to hold it and pretend that didnt happen"

and then i dont have much thoughts on the final dialogue-only scene. it's there, and does its purpose of expressing that v1 and v2 paid the toll and are going into the ship

who wants to see me liveblog my reaction to my own fic

[businessindustry]

Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market Global Insights and Trends, Forecasts to 2024-2032

The Reports and Insights, a leading market research company, has recently releases report titled “Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market: Global Industry Trends, Share, Size, Growth, Opportunity and Forecast 2024-2032.” The study provides a detailed analysis of the industry, including the global Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market Size share, trends, and growth forecasts. The report also includes competitor and regional analysis and highlights the latest advancements in the market.

Report Highlights:

How big is the Sintered Porous Plastic Filters Market?

The global sintered porous plastic filters market size reached US$ 1,620.8 million in 2023. Looking forward, Reports and Insights expects the market to reach US$ 3,004.9 million in 2032, exhibiting a growth rate (CAGR) of 7.1% during 2024-2032.

What are Sintered Porous Plastic Filters?

Sintered porous plastic filters are filtration devices made from polymeric materials like polyethylene (PE), polypropylene (PP), or polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE). They are manufactured by sintering small polymer particles to form a porous structure with precise pore sizes. These filters are valued for their resistance to chemicals, inertness, and long-lasting nature. They find application in various fields, including air and gas filtration, water treatment, medical devices, and industrial processes that demand fine particle filtration.

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What are the growth prospects and trends in the Sintered Porous Plastic Filters industry?

The sintered porous plastic filters market growth is drive by various factors. The sintered porous plastic filters market is expanding due to their extensive utilization across various industries. These filters, crafted from materials like polyethylene (PE), polypropylene (PP), or polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE), are highly regarded for their resistance to chemicals, inertness, and long-lasting nature. They find application in air and gas filtration, water treatment, medical devices, and industrial processes requiring precise particle filtration. Market growth is propelled by factors such as increasing industrialization, strict environmental regulations, and the demand for effective filtration solutions. Furthermore, advancements in filter technology, including improved pore size control and enhanced durability, are contributing to market expansion. Hence, all these factors contribute to sintered porous plastic filters market growth.

What is included in market segmentation?

The report has segmented the market into the following categories:

By Type:

Polyethylene (PE) Filters

Polypropylene (PP) Filters

Polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) Filters

Polyvinylidene Fluoride (PVDF) Filters

Others

By Filtration Rating:

Microfiltration (MF)

Ultrafiltration (UF)

Nanofiltration (NF)

Other

By End-Use Industry:

Pharmaceuticals

Water Treatment

Food and Beverage

Automotive

Chemicals

Electronics

Medical Devices

Others

By Application:

Liquid Filtration

Air Filtration

Gas Filtration

By Sales Channel:

Direct Sales

Distributor Sales

By Product Form:

Sheets

Tubes

Discs

Others

By Operating Temperature:

Low Temperature

High Temperature

By Industry Vertical:

Industrial

Healthcare

Food and Beverage

Water and Wastewater

Automotive

Electronics

Other

By Filtration Efficiency:

High Efficiency

Medium Efficiency

Low Efficiency

By Application Area:

Residential

Commercial

Industrial

By Product Size:

Small Filters

Medium Filters

Large Filters

By Product Configuration:

Single-Layer Filters

Multi-Layer Filters

Composite Filters

Segmentation By Region:

North America:

United States

Canada

Europe:

Germany

The U.K.

France

Spain

Italy

Russia

Poland

BENELUX

NORDIC

Rest of Europe

Asia Pacific:

China

India

Japan

South Korea

Australia

New Zealand

ASEAN

Rest of Asia Pacific

Latin America:

Brazil

Mexico

Argentina

Rest of Latin America

Middle East & Africa:

Saudi Arabia

United Arab Emirates

South Africa

Egypt

Israel

Rest of MEA.

Who are the key players operating in the industry?

The report covers the major market players including:

Porvair Filtration Group

Mott Corporation

Pall Corporation

Porex Corporation

Sintered Filter Technology

Meissner Filtration Products, Inc.

GVS Group

Industrial Netting

Baoji Fitow Metal Co., Ltd.

Porous Metal Filters, Inc.

Advanced Filtration Concepts

Tri-Mer Corporation

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Reports and Insights Business Research Pvt. Ltd. 1820 Avenue M, Brooklyn, NY, 11230, United States Contact No: +1-(347)-748-1518 Email: sales@reportsandinsights.com Website: https://www.reportsandinsights.com/ Follow us on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/company/report-and-insights/ Follow us on twitter: https://twitter.com/ReportsandInsi1

[omegawolverine]

hi hello i dont think we have talked b4 but i would love 2 hear ur craig ND headcanonz :))

hehe hello!! thank you for the asks!! here's my ND craig headcanons aka me projecting onto one of my kins :>

note? ig: im diagnosed with adhd buuuut i probably also have undiagnosed autism and idk how to separate those symptoms tbh so im not gonna be too specific about what's what ig. this truly will just be Pure Projection soooo

let's go!

-was absolutely that one kid growing up that got either "never applies himself" or "has good grades, but issues with socialization" on report cards

-bad at making and maintaining friendships :/

-school probably tested him and was like "yeah there is something here but we arent gonna diagnose bc that means we have to give him Actual Accommodations" and then stuck him in SPED classes which just got him bullied ajsksk

-has bad sensory issues with like. the feeling of skin and the sound of like silverware on plates, it literally makes him wanna peel his skin off. there's other ones obvs but those ones are the worst

-sensory overload makes him incredibly agitated or just downright pissed. gets very snippy but doesn't yell bc yelling feels Weird and he doesn't like it

-cant wear more than 2 layers, cant sleep with more than one thin blanket, it makes him feel like he's being suffocated and having his movement restricted

-always stimming but pretty good at making it unnoticeable, has a lot of normalized stims like playing with rubber bands, leg bouncing nail tapping, cracking knuckles, etc.

-but when he isnt trying to hide it? ohhh boy is he a loud motherfucker, very into stims that involve noise like rolling his r's, doin lil brr sounds, clickn buttons on like remotes and stuff, etc.

-not very good at masking tbh

-mmm echolalia galore

-flappy hands!! lots of flappy hands :]

-stims by hitting the balls of his hands/wrists together repeatedly, is probably one of his most used stims

-has like. harmful stims when he's upset or in pain? like hitting himself, scratching himself, etc.

-has lil dancey stims but only really does them in private or around close friends

-so flipping people off is already basically a stim in canon lbr but imagine he starts doing 👉👈 as a joke and then it just becomes a Default Stim. he jus be standing there and outta nowhere he's goin 👉👈 while having a completely normal conversation

-very bad at reading tone and social cues but he just wont admit it. refuses to ask questions either. leads to a lot of bad situations but he'd rather die than ask for clarification

-if you don't tell him exactly what to do he will just kinda. be confused. like you need to give him a step by step tutorial otherwise he will not do something very obvious on his own just incase he's wrong

-low empathy my beloathed /hj

-uhhh pls dont put him in a situation to comfort someone he will say and do all the wrong things even if he's trying his best

-red racer hyperfixation <3 guinea pig hyperfixation <3

-the most dry texter known to man bc he refuses to have important conversations over text due to Lack Of Tone Indication (his friends would be an exception bc tone indicators pog but still greatly prefers irl)

-its the having multiple swears as stimmy words for me /hj

-walks while leaning on the outside of his feet more than having them like. level? if that makes sense. similar to toe walking but like on the sides of the feet

-dont ask him to read a book he'll either hyperfixate or end up rereading the same page over and over again bc he retained nothing

-very blunt but he's not trying to be mean he just has literally no idea how to Not talk like that

-does a lil high picthed mm sound when happy flapping and usually rocks back and forth with it :]

-will be in the middle of the test and you'll just hear him softly muttering "bonk. bonk. bonk. bonk. bon-"

-that ^ or bababooey

-basically any tiktok sound he hates turns into a stim at some point

-has a playlist just titled "neurodivergent moment" bc he's that kind of person. the first song on it is the home of 47, followed by stupid mf (idk if the person who made the home of 47 ((trolleycat)) can reclaim the r slur but it's used a good amount in the song, stupid mf is just blatantly ableist tho lol)

-*info dumps by tearing apart his favorite media and then gets offended when a NT does the exact same thing*

-calls things ableist when they dont go his way

-has a lot of oral stims like give him anything he can chew on and he will fucking destroy it unless it's made to be chewed

-*sees strings on hat* *sticks end in mouf* *complains when its soaking wet 2 minutes later*

-hyperfixates on a lot of problematic media so he has become the most critical ass mfer when it comes to the shit he consumes

-sometimes he just. screams. bc he can. and he feels the need to.

-has rsd but shhh he'll never discuss it

[oonajaeadira]

Maxwell Lord, Agent Whiskey, Javier Peña, Marcus Pike, Pero Tovar and Zach Wellison. <3

I saw that you posted this list too and I was going to drop an ask but I'm super shy around folks I highly admire, so now that you've extended your very beautiful hand, don't be surprised if I come over and reciprocate.

Maxwell Lord: What is your favorite movie and/or tv show?

Mandalorian. Not just because of Pedro. Mandalorian is what brought me to this fandom--a dual fandom of Pedro and Star Wars--and I'm not sorry. Favorite Pedro movie is Prospect without a doubt.

Agent Whiskey: Favorite character to read fics for?

Ezra. Prospect is a dense world, but it's a small one and I like to see how others interpret the wider range of what's not in the movie. I also like to see how everyone tackles his voice, since it's so unique. And I love how everyone loves on him and lets his soft side show even though he's a crusty bastard. I also like to read Din, but I've built such a love of the one I'm writing that sometimes I have trouble adjusting to others' view of him. His character seems to swing widely in the fandom. I'll probably read more once I've closed up LMR and let mine go. *doesn't want to ever let go*

Javier Peña: Favorite scene to watch over and over?

I love the opening scene of "The Marshal", S2E1 of Mandalorian. The tension, the "I'm not" cockiness, the headbutt, the cockpunch, the whipcord, the "that wasn't part of the deal".... mmm! A lot of the pre-title scenes in Mando are my favorites. S2E4? With the wiring and the little peek of Pedro's chin while they drink soup? That little "hey" he gives Grogu? OMGoats, I am a micro-analyzing fool of that show.

Marcus Pike: Favorite quote?

Oh, I don't know that I have many quotes in the way that I'd say the lines as an inside joke in my everyday life, but when it comes to Pedro's excellent delivery skills, I swear to goats, it's two little words in the opening scene of "The Marshal." When he's trading threats with Gor Koresh, telling the mobster he'll let him live if he gets the info he needs and Koresh says, "I thought you said you weren't a gambler." The way Din says "I'm not," with that soft, COCKY AF tone? Those two words add LAYERS to his entire character in a way that just kill me. He's not only cool under pressure, but he's enjoying this, knows he's going to win and give this Mandalorian-murdering mf what he deserves. It's one of the only times we get to "see" Din smile and I just gotta love Pedro for having the sly chops and Jon for letting it slip through in the edit.

Pero Tovar: A character you once disliked but have come to love?

Hmmm. Tough. The only character I experienced from Pedro before Mando made me love him was Oberyn, and nobody dislikes Oberyn. I've approached all of his work since knowing I'd love him (although I was disappointed by Max Lord--a character that I dislike and have not come to love). I think the closest is Whiskey because he's such a clown in some ways and a secret villain? But he's so smooth and that whip/lasso action has my heart. Maybe Javi because I thought he was such a fuckboi but now that I'm in season 3 I just want to wrap him up and give him nice things?

Zach Wellison: Character you want to hug most?

Ezra. This feels like such a betrayal to Din, and if it were the Din of LMR, it would be him. But for canon Din, he's got a way to go yet before he'd hug me back and hold on the way I think Ezra would. Even with one arm, Ezra would win at hugs.

Pedro Pascal Character ask game