#didn't happen

[nsevens]

VERONICA MARS (2004 - 2007, 2019) 2.20 — Look Who's Stalking

[short-wooloo]

My dad was watching some stupid "The Mandalorian" recap (grifters gotta capitalize now that trailer for movie is out I guess), ordinarily I wouldn't care, but a specific line set me off when the recap got to the end of season 2

"and then Luke Skywalker broke our hearts when he took him (Grogu) away"

That is such a deceptive bad faith framing of the season 2 finale, it makes it seem like Luke abducted Grogu and took him against his and Din's wishes, it ignores how Grogu chose to go with Luke and how Din encouraged him to go (REMEMBER FILONI!?!?), Luke didn't do anything except calmly wait for their choice

and like I said, I wouldn't ordinarily think about this but it is such a common trend I see from people, depicting Grogu going with Luke in the worst light possible, that it was a kidnapping or something, that it was nonconsenual, that it was a theft of a child from their parent as opposed to what it actually was, two people letting go, understanding that their paths are diverging but knowing that they might one day see each other again

and I just know it's all rooted in/goes back to that infuriating "Jedi steal children" horseshit this fandom loves peddling and/or accepts as canon and not the literal in universe fascist propaganda it is (its also very much a repackaged antisemitism, blood libel anyone?)

[jaaskelainent]

Remember the time when Robin's body was kidnapped and held for ransom? This is the moment the ransom note was received. Crazy that was.

[viviennecism]

summer after high school

synopsis: five years is a long, long time.

word count: 1.2k

content warnings: alcohol, implied, very brief—this is Rusty yall sorry, on the other hand i've never achieved a prettier gradient

note: this is the product of me attempting (and failing) for some tiffany insight, brought to you by writer's block and the clunkiest piece i've ever produced. anyways. have fun mwah

Watching the party, Tiffany Romano couldn’t help but get the feeling that everyone had slipped far beyond her grasp.

Of course, she knew that the fact was only logical. It had been over five years since Lily’s death and the subsequent shattering of their small group; and they’d all scattered—gone to college, gone abroad, and in Fabian’s case, retreated into his shabby little shop.

And now they were all here.

She watched them: Emma—pink-haired and pink-cheeked at the table, entertaining a group of people with swooping gestures and a big grin; Xavier, broad-shouldered and hovering by Emma’s side with that stupid, dopey smile on his face; Fabian, with his bruised knuckles and a surly expression, nursing a wineglass; and her brother, Declan—ice-cold and composed as ever, with his hands in the pockets of his suit as he spoke to some politician whose name Tiffany had long since forgotten.

And her. Athanasia Pierce made her way through the party with the same decisive stride she’d had all those years ago, but everything else about her was of a stranger. Her hair—longer now, tied into a swinging ponytail, framed her face; pale and thin. She was taller, prettier; her hands fidgeted with the ties of her dress. Still uneasy, and restless as always. Perhaps that was why she’d always gotten along so well with Lily.

Tiffany swallowed the alcohol, bitter in her mouth, and approached her.

Athanasia looked up from the journal in her palms and met Tiffany’s gaze. Her eyes—spring-green and lively—instantly hardened, her expression tensing slightly. Tiffany faltered for a second, unable to explain to herself what she wanted, but then smoothed over her countenance, hand at hip.

“Tiffany,” Athanasia murmured.

“You still carry that little journal around?” It’s one of the many things she remembered about her; the girl with her hair in neat braids, a notebook at her belt and ink splattered all over her fingers. Tiffany had scoffed at it then, and she still found it ridiculous.

She stiffened. “These are the notebooks Amelia gave us.”

Tiffany had thrown hers away. She had no use for journals; and why would she use a Polaroid camera when she had a perfectly fine phone? She placed a hand on her hip and nodded to Athanasia’s necklace—the delicate pendant with a sapphire swinging daintily from the chain. With one manicured finger, she lifted it. “Honestly, it’s beautiful, honey, but it seems a little out of your budget. Did you steal it?”

Now was where Athanasia would roll her eyes and take her leave. Tiffany prepared herself for the usual, satisfying, huff of her breath as she blew out her bangs, the tap of her shoes as she ground her heel into the ground and turned away.

Athanasia did not do that. Her expression was one of contemptuous disinterest, her lips curving in a sneer. She jerked the necklace out of Tiffany’s fingers and said, flatly, “You know, Tiff, a lot about this town has changed since I left. But I’m glad to see that at least you’re still the same.”

She turned on her heel and returned to the table, leaving Tiffany standing there, feeling strangely hollow and not at all victorious. She usually brushed these remarks off. Declan must’ve made about a thousand sneering comments to her by now, and none of them bothered Tiffany in the slightest. No mocking had ever affected her, regardless of who it came from.

So why was the feeling in her chest oddly painful?

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Daniela’s voice in her ear was low, monotonous; the gleam in her eyes betrayed her sardonic amusement. She handed Tiffany a crystalline glass of amber. “Why the long face, Tiffany?”

Tiffany exhaled, accepting the drink. “I’m perfectly alright, Daniela.”

Contrary to her older brother Fabian, Daniela had left Windrose Bay the first chance she’d gotten and had never looked back. As if remembering it now, Daniela’s hand closed around Tiffany’s forearm. Her voice pitched low. “What did you say to her?”

Tiffany tried to snatch her arm back, but the other woman’s calloused grip was firm and unrelenting. Her eyes slid unwittingly down to the open neck of Daniela’s gown before rushing back up. ”Why do I always have to have done something? Why couldn’t she just have said something to me?’

Daniela glanced at Athanasia’s retreating figure and snorted. “Athy’s not mean.”

Unlike you. Tiffany felt the unspoken barb, and it cut deep. Draining her drink, she turned to the other girl, sneering. “Why are you here?”

“To be honest, I didn’t know Amelia invited me. My roommate intercepted her inivitation.” Daniela aimlessly played with the tassles on her sleeve. “I think she’s invited the whole damn town, and then the full list of her mother’s very respectable friends.”

Tiffany couldn’t help the odd half-laugh, half-scoff that left her. “She’s…enthusiastic, to say.”

“Amelia? I daresay Vivienne is more enthusiastic about this wedding than her daughter.”

”Why are you really here, Daniela?”

Tiffany’s ever-searching gaze took her in: the way her strong, calloused hands were toying with her dress, the messiness of her shaggy, dark hair, the sun gleaming off of her brown skin. She knew her intimately well—the restlessness in the rhythm of her fingers, the urgency in one foot always perpetually turned away, the casual ease with which she came and went.

And so she knew there was nothing Daniela hated more than Windrose Bay—stifling, claustrophobic Windrose Bay. The chamber of all of their nightmares, the loaded gun from their pasts.

Daniela’s smile dimmed ever so slightly. “Maybe I’m here to stop you from pushing any more of our friends into the pool.”

“…I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tiffany’s heart sped up. She hadn’t meant to push Athanasia that evening, despite her irritation. But her mother’s words had been ringing in her head like a metronome, and Athanasia had looked up from her glass with that infernal curiosity sharp in her eyes and echoed them, and before Tiffany knew it she was moving, sending the other girl into the pool with an obscenely loud splash.

That night, her mother’s brief praise for getting Julian Sanders’ attention had almost made it feel worth it.

“No, you do, Tiff. You know.” Daniela’s lips were pressed into a flat line, her hands still. She turned to face Tiffany, her face serious. “You know this has been your problem since forever. You want affection, but you only give contempt. You chase people to keep them with you, but then you push them away. You’re drowning, but you want us all to clap and point and say, wow, look how well she’s swimming. Just let me help y—”

The words left Tiffany feeling stripped bare, which was odd, considering that her dress was the most suffocating thing she’s ever worn. The wounds stung underneath Daniela’s scrutiny, and automatically, she was saying, her voice as cold as she could make it, “There’s no need. Quite unhealthy to project your feelings onto me, Dani—if I need a diagnosis next time, I’ll make sure to talk to a psychiatrist.”

The look on Daniela’s face changed faster than Tiffany could decipher—from earnestly open to disappointment to unreadable, perfectly neutral. Her voice, when she spoke, was flat. “I see. Well, enjoy the party, Tiff. Good talk.”

All around her, the festivity was lively and bright. Her brother was nowhere to be seen; Amelia and Oliver were giving some sort of speech to the crowd that Tiffany couldn’t make out. Everything sounded vaguely muffled, as if underwater.

Tiffany lifted the glass to her lips and drank.

[geriaunelysk]

Respectfully, why does it automatically post after I press save in drafts? Why? I was begining to think I accidentally pressed post, but no??? What is this?? Why is this???

[madamscream]

most of my romantic relationships are kinda in limbo right now (amicable, death by communication failure) and so i've had some time to think about what i like. actually want. for myself. and it turns out! it's real different than pretty much everything I'd been planning...

i think i'm gunna trans my gender and move to canada to live with my best friend. i think maybe i don't want a romantic relationship at all right now, or maybe ever? maybe maybe maybe if i hit it off real well with another ace person. maybe maybe maybe if my one extant crush on a real person ends up growing into something.

i think maybe i've spent a lot of time trying to convince myself i wanted what the people i love wanted and that might maybe have a lot to do with why i've not been able to drum up any enthusiasm for most anything at all for the last decade and some change.

i think maybe i should stop doing that

[sadiegirl2021]

Thinking of all the times Gwyn was so evil in ACOSF. Like -

Nesta whirled at the end of the bridge to find Gwyn still on the other side with an arrow through her thighs. Down. Too close to the males closing in-

"CUT IT!" Gwyn roared.

Or

Gwyn bared her teeth. "I refuse to leave you here."

And

Gwyn screamed, "IT'S NOT THE ONLY WAY!" And then she was sobbing. "I will not abandon you to them. They will kill you."

Don't get me started on -

"You need to go," Nesta said, even as her hands began shaking. "Now."

"No," Gwyn wept. "No, I won't. I'll face it with you."