#I have a lot of good memories watching this show

[muletia]

I just rewatched The Sea Beast on Netflix (which if you haven't seen it HIGHLY RECOMMEND!! It's basically HTTYD vibes but with sea monsters) and it got me thinking about mer shark breakdown

Sharks have a bad rep cuz while there have been shark attacks on humans, for the most part sharks aren’t aggressive towards humans and would rather feed on marine life. Something that apparently happens is “mistaken identity” where a shark will mistake a human for a natural prey. Basically shark attacks are actually pretty rare in the grand scheme of things.

Imagine Merformer Breakdown, as a blue shark mermaid, has had if rough with humans. Even when he isn’t doing anything human sailors or hunters still try to harpoon him. Thankfully cuz breakdown is a big lad he’s able to sink most ships pretty easily, but imagine one day when Knockout, Breakdown and you are all chilling you notice harpoons sticking out of Breakdown’s tail. Since Breakdown would probably be a LOT bigger than Knockout, and probably rightfully cautious about people, at first he gives a low warning growl to you approaching- and then out right shrieks when you manage to pull a harpoon out of his side

Breakdown snarls at you as you quickly toss away the harpoon, hoping to god this giant shark merform isn’t going to eat you. But then Breakdown realises how…nicer it feels to have the harpoon out, it had been bugging him for weeks. So, he settles, still letting out sudden, sharp growls when you pull more harpoons out of him, but by the time you’re done Breakdown is mentally swearing up and down that he will kill for you

Ohhh you just unlocked memories for me with that movie. I think I watched it about two years ago. Really nice and fun film!

Breakdown content let’s gooo

Since I don’t want to separate this canon couple too much, just imagine: the first time Breakdown screeches, Knockout immediately darts toward you, ready to defend his mate. So now you’ve got to somehow convince two pissed-off mers that you’re trying to help, not hurt them (good luck with that). But once they realize you’re actually doing them a favor, they stop with the growling and tooth-showing, and you’re allowed to continue your little spa day.

And not only have you earned the trust and loyalty of a massive shark but now they also feel like they need to repay you somehow. Breakdown is the first to lean down toward you, his huge helm nuzzling your head, and low but sweet chirps slipping from his lips. Then Knockout joins in, with the exact same intention of smothering you in affection.

So now you’re stuck between two needy, clingy mers who have no intention of leaving their sweet little helpful human alone <3

[noorpersona]

HIIII ❤️❤️

Ive been reading around and oh my gosh i’ve been on your page for hours I LOVE THESE SMSMSMSM

I was wondering if you could make a nishinoya yuu x reader jealousy situation of sorts with some other character of your preference 😛

TYTYTY AND HAVE A GOOD DAY

HEYYY ❤️❤️

omggg THANK YOU you're literally the sweetest?? I’m so glad you've been enjoying the writing, that means everything 😭💕

I dug around my heart for this one hehehe enjoy <333

--

Jealously: Nishinoya

The Italian coast had a way of folding people into it.

The small harbor town of Portoscala wasn’t marked on most maps, but it was the kind of place that pulled you in by scent and sound alone—basil, brine, the sharp bark of espresso machines, the hiss of fishing lines cutting into saltwater. The houses stacked up the hillside in sun-washed pastels, terracotta roofs leaning toward one another like gossiping old women, and each morning bloomed in gold, dust, and noise.

Nishinoya had been living there for almost a year.

He liked the simplicity. The rhythm. He fished in the early morning when the water was still like glass and the mist clung to the backs of boats. He traded with the locals for olives, lemons, sun-warped tomatoes. He learned to speak enough Italian to argue over coffee but kept to himself when he could. That is—until the morning he saw the shop.

It was tucked quietly between buildings like it had grown there, ivy tumbling down the stucco in lazy loops. Not flashy. Just a wide, sun-fogged window and a crooked, hand-painted sign that read: “STAMPE DI PESCI – Art of the Sea.”

He might have passed it—would’ve passed it—if not for what he saw in the window.

A fish. Flattened. Inked. Pressed onto thick, textured paper with no signature, no flourish. Just the clean, solemn truth of its shape. It hit him like a wave. Not the artwork—though it was stunning—but the memory it dragged up from deep inside him.

Gyotaku.

He hadn’t seen it in years. Not since Japan. Not since he was a kid trailing behind his grandfather at the docks, watching weathered hands lift up fish with reverence. Not since he learned the words “This is how you honor the catch.”

He didn’t hesitate. He walked straight in.

The bell above the door jingled. The smell inside was rich and unfamiliar—sumi ink, sea salt, rosemary from the windowsill. The walls were lined with delicate scrolls, prints hung to dry on twine lines, their outlines crisp and real, as if they might still swim.

And there you were.

Barefoot, sleeves rolled to the elbows, brush in hand. You were crouched over a long table near the back, smoothing the belly of a halibut with fingers stained black at the tips. Your hair was tied up but loose in places, ink streaked across your cheek in a streak you hadn’t noticed yet.

You looked up at the sound of the bell, blinking once before smiling. “Can I help you?”

He opened his mouth, paused, then blurted, “Where’d you learn to do that?”

You stood, wiping your hands on your apron. “Gyotaku? From an artist in Hokkaido. I lived there for a few months.”

“I’m from Miyagi,” he said. “My jii-chan showed me once. Said it was… respectful.”

You nodded. “It is. It’s also beautiful.”

He stepped closer, eyes flicking over the work laid out on your table. They weren’t just prints. They were preserved motion. Like each fish had whispered something to you, and you'd sealed it in ink.

“I fish,” he said suddenly. “A lot.”

That made you laugh. “Lucky me.”

From that day forward, he brought you fish. Not for money. Not for trade. Just… because.

You specialized in gyotaku: honoring a fish's form by inking it and pressing it into rice paper. Some saw it as odd, but Nishinoya understood it immediately. "You're printing souls," he’d said once, eyes wide. "You're like... a fish priest." You laughed so hard you smudged your sleeve in ink.

Sometimes he brought tuna. Sometimes eels. Once, a marlin.

“Found this guy giving me attitude,” he said, setting the marlin down with a triumphant grin that practically gleamed in the sunlight. His shirt was half-untucked, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and there was a visible scrape down one forearm you suspected had a very fishy origin. “I spotted him darting through the current like he thought he could out-swim me. I told him, ‘No chance. You’re going straight to her studio.’ It was like he knew you’d been looking at other marlins.”

You squinted at him, folding your arms. “Wait. Are you saying you chased down a marlin because you were jealous of hypothetical fish?”

He looked at you with complete sincerity. “He was flashy. Had that whole deep-sea bad boy look. I wasn’t taking chances.”

You stared. “Yuu. Did you wrestle a marlin because you got jealous of how it looked?”

He shrugged, utterly unapologetic. “I mean, I won. So… not that weird, right?”

What he didn’t know was that your manager, back in Tokyo, had recently started sending rare fish your way for commissioned prints. They were oddities—deep-sea rarities with exotic fins and unusual shapes, packed in sleek crates with dry ice and impersonal paperwork. It was nothing personal. Just a business arrangement. Your agent insisted the pieces would catch the eye of collectors and museums. You weren’t even sure you liked it. The fish felt clinical. Shipped from a catalogue. Still, you printed them, because sometimes art meant compromise.

One morning, you were laying a freshly defrosted anglerfish onto your press table, arranging the fins just so, when the studio door creaked open.

“That’s not mine,” Nishinoya said flatly.

You glanced up, brush poised midair. “No. It’s from my manager. Special commission.”

He didn’t respond. Not immediately. He just crossed his arms, standing there in the doorway like he'd been slapped with a cold towel. His brows furrowed hard enough to crease the space between them, and his eyes flicked between the anglerfish and you like he wasn’t sure which of you he felt more betrayed by.

“Yuu?” you asked, already hearing the shift in his silence.

“So now you’re just taking fish from whoever sends them?” he muttered, voice sharp around the edges but too controlled to be casual. There was disbelief there—wounded pride dressed up in sarcasm. His posture was all puffed-up defensiveness, hands tucked under his arms, one foot tapping absently against the tile.

You blinked. “It’s for a commission. I didn’t pick it. They just send them.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, still eyeing the fish like it had personally flirted with you.

“Yuu—”

“I just thought I was your fish guy,” he said, louder now, pacing a few steps forward before turning on his heel. “Guess I got replaced by some frozen deep-sea glow stick.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried not to laugh. You really tried.

“A glow stick?”

He shot you a look, scowl deepening. “With teeth. Look at it! That thing’s got more spikes than a sea urchin in a blender.”

You set the brush down and crossed the room, reaching out to tug gently at his sleeve. “Yuu. Come on.”

He let you pull him a little closer, though he kept his head turned stubbornly to the side.

“You are my fish guy. My ridiculous, dramatic, jealous fish guy. Who once named a swordfish after me and then told the whole pier she was impossible to catch.”

He sniffed. “To be fair, she was very stubborn. And she slapped me. Right in the nose.”

You bit back a grin. “Exactly my point.”

His eyes flicked to you finally—brown and bright and still a little hurt, like he wasn’t quite ready to admit how much the whole thing had gotten under his skin.

Without a word, you reached beneath your worktable and pulled out a wrapped scroll, tied carefully with twine. “I was saving this for your birthday, but… now seems like a good time.”

He took it hesitantly, brow furrowed, and began to unroll it.

The moment the marlin came into view, he froze. The print was bold—ink sweeping across the paper in clean, elegant lines. Powerful. Still. The exact shape of the fish he’d caught for you weeks ago. You’d captured its spirit perfectly, the curve of its body frozen in motion like it was still alive.

“I made this for you,” you said softly. “I couldn’t hang it in the studio. It didn’t feel right. It’s yours.”

He stared down at the paper like it was something sacred. His fingers tightened around the edges.

“You’re not crying, are you?” you teased gently.

“No,” he said quickly, voice higher than usual and cracking a little at the end. “I just got fish guts in my eye or something.”

You laughed, and he stepped forward to pull you into him, one arm wrapping tight around your waist, the other holding the scroll safely behind your back like it was too precious to wrinkle.

“I’m still your number one fish guy, right?” he murmured into your shoulder.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Always.”

He pulled back just enough to grin, the edges of it crooked and boyish. “Even if I name the next one after your middle name?”

“Yuu.”

He laughed into your neck. “Fine. But she better be as stubborn as you.”

[forsaken-headcanons]

im gonna infodump my taph headcanons, and a few azure hcs i have :3c if i could kindly be referred to as -🌙🦴 anon, that'd be lovely!

CWs: suggestive, but not nsfw; self harm MENTIONED, but no details in specific. That should be all.

TAPH - he/they/it

selective mute, knows sign language .

audhd, tries not to be annoying .

head wings + lower back / waist wings

very big on textures, their robe/clothes are soft (or silky texture)

very big on hugs and cuddles, enjoys (literally) sleeping w people

favorite stims are kicking their feet and flapping their wings .

loves kissing and being kissed, platonic or romantic? no.

very very much touch starved.

likes to read, to hug or be hugged, and to watch shows

doesn't like loud nor sudden sounds at all.

has horribly weird fantasies, very vivid.

also has a journal to jot down said fantasies in :3

specializes in crafts and gadgets of all sorts

has a habit of fixating on people and getting obsessive by accident

easily startled and scared. flinches a LOT .

has horrible anxiety. the worrier EVER.

one thing it hates most is how easy it starts to tear up / cry

speaks one to two words around people he likes / loves

REALLY likes dark colors / the dark . royal purple :3

really paranoid always. lives in the woods..

likes the idea of romance and going out , but not the commitment

doesnt like leaving home.. likes friends sleeping over tho

prefers shows rather than movies

horrible issues with his feelings

almost weightless, lanky and thin :(

acespec, prefers to provide and give rather than revieve

really likes praise ..

has nice handwriting :3

horrible immune system. gets sick easily..

likes warm showers.. stays in so long he has no hot water left

has a lot of snacks for others, they dont eat it though

gets REALLY self conscious for no reason.

really against self harm, they scratch themselves subconsciously

really clingy by accident . abadonment issues.

enjoys kid shows.. probably watches bluey a lot

prefers tea but likes coffee

likes baking, not eating

likes all types of foods..

collects a lot of stuff.. a lot of soda tabs collected

reads really fast..

horrible at saying no or speaking any feelings of theirs

plays music to sleep.... has a speaker they use :)

plays game themes, calm music, and music w/ no lyrics..

likes to paint !!

loves any sort of feline :3 big kitties... augh.

AZURE - he/they/she on occasion

pretty good at styling hair :3

knows every plants botanical name... ily azure

loves swans cuz twotime coded

sleeps with like one pillow no blanket

takes sleeping pills... insomnia..

stress cleans.. cleans when upset..

one of their favorite petnames is "my nightshade"

made their hat by themselves..

grows in-season plants..

loves braiding hair......

has a blanket closet for absolutely no reason

enjoys staying up late!

yapper ever. hello autism

at one point he owned a millipede.

knows how to sew and stitch, passtime..

loves the quiet :3

photographic memory...

owns a greenhouse near where he lives. it is always full of life..

he puts out food for certain animals sometimes :3

thank you for reading my yap session

-🌙🦴

Ooh, I really really love the Taph ones. Thank you for the content warning.

[ashyblondwaves]

i just read "bloom" and pleaseeee 😭 you need to make it a longer fic it was too good and also short

Aww, I'm so glad you liked it! Thanks for stopping by to request more. I decided to strike while the iron was hot and got another 1100 words for ya! Enjoy :)

Part 1: Bloom

Blossom

She settles at the kitchen table, legs tucked underneath her like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible, which is ridiculous considering she’s all I have eyes for right now. 

I follow behind her with the tea. Hers is honey and chamomile, and mine, well, whatever was left in the tin. I think it’s peppermint. I set her cup down in front of her, careful not to spill, and try to ignore how my hands are still a little shaky. 

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just tears off another piece of bread and chews. I sit across from her, and for a moment it’s quiet in a way that feels deliberate, not accidental. I’m not worried that she’s retreating back into her shell. I’m simply waiting for the next quip that I know is coming. 

“This is good,” she says finally, gesturing toward the loaf like it’s responsible for everything unfolding between us.

“Making it helps me think,” I saw with a nod. 

“About what?” she asks, staring into my soul. 

You.

 But I don’t say that. Not yet.

“Things,” I hedge. “Dreams. What’s real and what isn’t.”

She hums. Her eyes drop to the cup between her hands. “Sometimes I still think I imagined you saying you wanted me to try harder.”

My chest tightens in that familiar way. The mix of tenderness and grief and awe that always shows up when she gives me even the smallest piece of her.

“Sometimes? How often have you thought about it since I said it five minutes ago?” I chuckle. 

She takes another bite of bread, chewing thoughtfully. “A lot.” 

“Well, you didn’t imagine it,” I say. “And I meant it.” 

She nods, just once, like she’s locking that truth away somewhere safe. Then she glances up, expression unreadable.

“So if I keep showing up like this, being present,” she says slowly, “Will you let me?”

I smile. I can’t help it. It’s like something finally unclenches in my ribs.

“Yeah,” I say. “Every time.

She doesn't smile back, not exactly. But she takes another bite of bread, and her foot nudges mine under the table. It’s light, like a dare.

And I swear the world tilts just slightly toward the good.

Later, when the sun has sunk low enough to stain the windows gold, she stands. Her mug is empty. The bread is mostly gone. I expect her to murmur a quick goodbye, maybe head back to her room in that quiet way she does. 

But instead, she glances toward the door.

“Want to take a walk?”

“With you?” I blink. 

“No, with the bread,” she says, raising an eyebrow. 

We don’t say much as we head out. The path is familiar, worn down by footsteps, memories, and ghosts. She doesn’t reach for my hand, and I don’t reach for hers, but we stay close. Closer than we have in a long time. Our shoulders nearly touch with every step.

Everything has regrown in strange ways, wild and unruly. Nature doesn’t care what burned. It comes back anyway.

Katniss walks ahead a few steps, then drops into the grass like she belongs to it.

I follow, slowly folding myself down next to her. The breeze carries the scent of nature and sun-warmed earth.

“I used to come here,” she says, her voice barely above the wind. “During the war. In my head, I mean. I’d try to remember how the light looked on the grass. How it felt to lie down without anyone watching.”

I look at her, but she’s staring up at the sky like it might tell her something important.

“I used to dream about this,” I admit. “Us. Just being able to take a walk like this. After everything.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “Were your dreams anything like this?”

“No,” I say honestly. “They were quieter. Idealistic stuff. But you? You were just as sharp as ever.”

She snorts, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. 

“You liked that about me.”

“I still do.” The words escape before I can stop them.

She doesn’t flinch. Just turns her head toward me, and something about the way the sun kisses her cheekbones makes me dizzy.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she says.

“Me either,” I say softly. “But we’re here. That’s something.”

A beat passes. Then she shifts, slow and deliberate, until her head is resting lightly on my shoulder. Her hair brushes my neck. My heart starts hammering again, but I don’t move. I don’t breathe too deeply. I just exist.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

Soon, the sun sinks behind the trees and shadows stretch across the meadow like they’re exhaling. Katniss hasn’t moved from my shoulder, and I haven’t asked her to. I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to. 

There’s something steadying about the weight of her, the quiet rhythm of her breath against my shirt.

Crickets start their slow, sleepy chorus. The stars blink awake overhead.

She shifts eventually, just enough to tilt her face up toward mine. Her eyes catch the last of the light, all storm cloud gray and impossible to look away from.

“I keep thinking I should be better at this,” she murmurs.

“At what?”

“This,” she says, gesturing between us. “Being with someone. Saying what I mean. Letting someone stay.”

“You don’t have to be good at it,” I whisper. “You just have to want to try.”

She studies me like she’s memorizing my face. Like she wants to carve this moment into her mind in case it disappears.

And then, careful and unsure, she reaches for my hand in the grass. Her fingers graze mine, tentative at first, like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.

I don’t. I won’t. 

I lace our fingers together slowly, and she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.

Her palm is warm. Her grip, a little shaky.

I let myself look down at where we’re joined, and for the first time since everything shattered, I feel whole.

When I glance back up, she’s watching me.

And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, she leans in and presses her lips to the corner of my mouth. Not quite a kiss. Not yet. But a promise. A beginning.

When she pulls back, she doesn’t say anything, and she doesn’t have to.

The stars stretch wide above us. The world keeps turning.

And she’s still holding my hand.

[veryace-ficrecs]

BatFam Fluff Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Of A Genius' Legacy by sparkoflena - Not Rated

What is the point of being a child genius with an eidetic memory if that brain can't be used to catch up on a lacking education? OR Tim takes a couple of months off in order to catch up on two and a half years of school all in one go - and graduates high school. He knows he deserves a celebration. He just didn't expect his whole family to show.

Cat Dad by Nanimok - Rated G

How Tim went from being unattached to a cat dad of three and ends up solving the mystery of Gotham's missing vigilantes.

The Right Substitution is Key by AddictedApple - T

“The Red Hood has been good for Gotham,” Robin continued. “Crime in Park Row decreased by sixty one percent almost as soon as you showed up, and that’s even taking into account all the crime you commit. Drug overdoses have decreased by twenty two percent in adults and seventy nine percent in minors. Homeless minors are ninety two percent less likely to—” “Kid,” Jason interrupted. “Enough statistics. What the hell is this about?” Robin slowly lowered the tablet with his powerpoint presentation and looked up at Red Hood. “You care about Gotham,” Robin summarised. “Gotham needs Batman. Batman is missing and so is Nightwing. We need you to fill in for Batman.” “You want me to cover Batman’s patrols?” Jason clarified. “No,” Robin said. “I want you to be Batman.” Jason bluescreened. (Or: Batman and Nightwing mysteriously disappear before Red Hood has even started antagonising them, Robin is desperate, Gotham needs Batman, and Red Hood is Batman-Shaped.)

First Priority by avaya29 - Rated T

After Tim completely derails Jason’s beatdown attempt by asking him for a hug, Jason’s first priority is to get this touch-starved kid more cuddles. Tim’s first priority is to avoid Dick’s traps. Jason learns a lot about his brothers and what happened while he was away, and something about himself too.

Tag, You're It by K1tsun3_Kats (S13222) - Rated T

“Fine!” Jason raised his gun, growling, “If you don’t surrender, I’ll just shoot you myself.” Barbara paused then turned back around. “You wouldn’t.” “Why does everyone keep saying that!” “Because you never do it.” “I shot Dick!” She gave him a pointed look. “It’s Dick.” OR The Batfam play an unorthodox version of Tag involving lots of paint and lots of blood. Jason suffers.

Midnight by Cephalogod - Rated G

Drabble writing challenge, prompt word "Midnight" Featuring Steph, Damian, snacks and late-night TV watching.

Can you get the light? by ALzzza - Rated G

Dick doesn’t at all lose his pout, brow furrowing. Bruce reaches over to tug at his cape only for Dick’s hand to immediately dart out and bat him away. He shifts from Bruce’s side, nearly rolling away. Bruce twists as he loses sight of him. Dick’s escape ends in him collapsed into his pillows; cape pulled over his head. “Hmm.” Bruce looks to Alfred after a moment, to which Alfred sends him a dry look. “Couldn’t barter the cape?” Alfred’s eyes narrow as if this is entirely Bruce’s influence. Or I had a very abrupt thought of ‘omg do you think dick ever refused to take off his robin suit as a kid’ and here we are

I never knew I could want something so much, but it's true by BlueBedo - Rated G

Or, Bruce finally gets to hold a baby.

For decades now, that young boy has perplexed both Bruce and Batman alike. Whether it be inhuman acrobatics that Bruce hadn't thought possible, a pure love and compassion for the world that Batman had forgotten long ago, or the challenge of parenthood on someone long-believed to be a child himself - Dick was the cause of all Bruce's happiest moments, greatest heartbreaks, and strongest migraines.

This, however? This takes the cake

Wayne Publishing (Or, How to Make Bruce Cry) by Lumeleo - Rated T

Tim has a new project: Wayne Publishing. He drags everyone else into it.

to float around (and ghost my friends) by couldyoublameme - Rated G

Tim hiked a thumb over his shoulder, glancing warily behind him before lowering his voice. “Is Red Hood sitting at our dining table?” Duke nodded, firmer this time. “Uh, yeah. Think so.” “Right,” Tim stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed but also slightly glazed over, and then continued his well-worn path to the coffee machine. “Quick follow up question, then. Um, why is Red Hood sitting at our dining table?” Duke blinked. “Oh. Does that... Is that not normal?” -- 5 times Jason showed up randomly around his family, and the 1 time they came to him

[thejayviksterekalliance]

Stiles Stilinski: Pre-Season 3B Era

Meet Mieczysław "Stiles" Stilinski. He comes from a Polish family and hid name is pronounced "Mitch-E-Slav", or that's what my ear hears, so forgive me if I got the pronunciation wrong. It means "glorious sword".

For anyone who has not watched the show, you are lucky. We didn't find out his first name until the final season of the show, so your welcome.

In my "Beacon Hills" post I let you know that his father is the Sheriff. His mother died before he was 10 of a disease called frontotemporal dementia. It can be passed down genetically. (More on that later.) His dad had a rough go for a while and took a swim into the bottle for a bit but found a way through and has not touched a drink of his own volition since then. Yeah...it was rough and Stiles still carries the emotional scars. He was diagnosed with ADHD as well. Put all of that together, it wasn't a bad upbringing, but it wasn't great either.

He and his dad have lot's of love for each other. Here are two examples out of many. Example 1 (It was not kids, but he did not want his dad to get tangled in the supernatural mess going on.) and Example 2 (Those Stilinski hugs are serious business).

Stiles is very smart and witty, sometimes too much so. Here are two examples of what I am talking about. Example 1 and Example 2.

The whole show started because he went to his friend Scott's house one night because he heard on the police scanner that there was a body found in the woods and he wanted to go check it out. That's when the murderer, a werewolf, bit Scott and boom there you go we have a teen wolf on our hands. (More on that later) I'm telling you plot, luck, and proximity are the only reasons Stiles didn't get bitten. (Oh how the werewolf wished it was Stiles, but more on that later.)

He had a girl he was crushing on for years named Lydia Martin.

He even had an active 5 year plan to finally get her to be his girlfriend even though at the time she was dating Big Man on Campus Jackson Whitmore.

Who happens to be the captain of the Lacrosse team both Stiles and Scott are on.

It's Stiles that pieces together that Scott is a werewolf. Stiles is a big movie buff so all the clues were there. He went out of his way to help train Scott to control his senses and see the limit of his strength. It was real funny. Scott and Stiles are best friends at this point and who knows where Scott would be without him.

His memory is so good that he actually remembers the tragedy that happened to the Hale family even though he was in single digits.

He and Derek do not get along at first. Seriously, Stiles was asking if they could kill Derek in a joking, not joking manner. Here is a fan art that adds to this point.

But through trial and tribulations, the aggressive tension waned (I know, fiesty lol).

When it comes down to it Stiles is not above breaking the law to help those he cares about. He can not stand the thought of losing anyone he cares about, to the point that he demands his father eat more salads to stay healthy, even though he himself will kill a sack of curly fries.

There is also another character that is so closely intertwined with Stiles, that's Roscoe his blue Jeep.

It belonged to his mother and now it is his and he loves Roscoe so much. But damned if he does not know how to maintain it. Check this out.

Oh and to the annoyance of myself and I am sure a lot of other Stiles fans, the show completely dropped a plot point that would have been awesome. I do believe Stiles can wield magic.

Remember how I mentioned the Nematon and there being a space under it? This is that space under that big stump and it's being held up by Stiles's metal bat to get his father out from under it. Movie magic right? Suspension of disbelief? There were other things before this and after that pointed to this new character development, including a druid telling him he has a Spark inside of him, but the show did not pursue that. I guess it's because it would have taken the focus off of the Teen Wolf.

**Mini rant. There were a whole lot of contenders that would have taken the spot light off of the main character, the Teen Wolf himself Scott McCall and rightly so. These threats to that spotlight were either slowly phased out or removed all together. Who knows what kind of show it would have been if the show actually followed it own internal logic. Ok mini rant over**

So anyway this is the brief rundown of this Era in the life of Stiles Stilinski.

Next...the Season 3B and Beyond Era...

Pain...

[nanihirunkits]

i'm going to be so sad if gmmtv permanently replaces the dvd boxsets with memorial boxsets from now on

[sskk-manifesto]

And so the big sskk shortage begins (no sskk for the next 15 episodes) (and the sskk episode coming after kind of sucks)

[euyrdice]

ok ice on my teeth was fr so good.... ALSO JAEMIN YUNHO COLAB?????

[dan-crimes]

LMAO so funny thing is everyone knows the whole Sonic and Shadow looking alike thing is total bullshit and I totally agree those comments they try to pull in the games and show(s? I'm not technically a Sonic fan I dunno if it's multiple) make basically no sense to me but then my Mom comes in while watching Sonic Prime and says "So what, Sonic has a brother or something?" and this whole other world has opened up to me and I've seen the truth of it all

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

The eternal tension between genuinely wanting to watch/read good horror media and wanting to sleep for the next week.

[suboptimal-route]

I have managed to get my good pal and professional fag @r4ccs hooked on a 7-8 year old fandom webseries that i've gotten back into and it has poisoned our minds already

[rosemirmir]

That was a sweet and tender finale... I cried a lot.

Geats was my first Kamen Rider I saw as it aired. But its also the first Toku I've seen as it aired, end. So this is a new experience for me.

(And was actually caught up on, Donbros I was watching it as it aired but never got able to catch up, I finished not long after it ended)

I've got a lot of emotions thats hard to put into words. I'm just seriously gonna miss these guys.

Thank you for the memories. 🦊🐮🦝🐱

[achingly-shy]

istg watching the chibnall era of doctor who just feels like an intelligence test i am severely failing

[maskedbyghost]

You and Simon aren’t together. Never have been. Never talked about it, never even thought about it.

You just click. You always have. It started as a mission thing—paired up for some op because Price figured you worked well together, and then it just… stuck. You got each other in ways that didn’t need explaining. You liked the same things, moved the same way, anticipated each other’s actions before they happened. You didn’t have to tell him what you needed in the field, and he never had to ask you to cover him. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of thing that felt natural before you even noticed it happening.

And then it bled into everything else. Eating together. Training together. Sitting next to each other on long flights, in debriefs, in the rare downtime you got between missions. It was never planned, never discussed. Just a thing that happened, like muscle memory. If you were in a room, Simon was there too, and if he wasn’t, he was on his way.

The others noticed, of course. Soap especially. He was the loudest about it, but even Gaz had taken to shooting you both pointed looks when you showed up somewhere at the same time, or when you answered Simon’s half-formed thoughts like you knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Which, honestly, you usually did.

It all comes to a head one evening, the lot of you gathered in one of the common rooms, half-done with the day but not quite ready to call it a night. You and Simon are on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, idly watching something on the TV while Soap, sitting across from you both, groans into his hands.

“You two make me sick.”

You blink at him. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

“That’s the problem!” Soap gestures wildly. “You do everything together. You finish each other’s bloody sentences. You know what the other is thinking. And you’re just—what? Friends?” He scoffs. “Aye, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Simon leans back, tilting his head slightly. “Don’t think you’ve got the legs for a crown, mate.”

Gaz snorts. Price, watching from his spot near the door, only shakes his head like he’s seen this conversation play out a hundred times before. (He has.)

Soap ignores them, pointing a finger between you and Simon like he’s solving some grand mystery. “There’s only one thing you haven’t done,” he declares. “You just need to kiss. That’s it. Only thing missing.”

Silence.

You turn your head. Simon is already looking at you.

There’s nothing in his expression that gives anything away—no smirk, no challenge, no humor in his eyes. He’s just watching you, waiting. And then, with a tiny shrug, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s short, unhurried. Just a press of his lips against yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he pulls back, his eyes are still on you, searching.

You don’t react. Not outwardly, anyway. You can feel Soap’s disbelief burning into the side of your face, hear the noise he makes—the strangled mix between a gasp and an outraged protest—but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you look back at Simon, forcing yourself to stay still even as your heart does something stupid in your chest.

Because, sure, maybe this was just to mess with Soap. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

Simon smirks and leans back, turning his attention back to the TV like nothing happened. “Happy now?”

Soap looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led him to this moment. “What the fuck?”

—

Later, when Simon walks you back to your room, he’s quieter than usual. His hands are in his pockets, his head tilted down slightly like he’s working through something in his mind.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” he says after a beat. “Didn’t mean—well, didn’t want you to think it was—”

He stops, exhales sharply through his nose. “Just don’t want you to be mad.”

You glance at him. “I’m not mad.”

He nods, but his mouth pulls into something uncertain, like he doesn’t believe you. “Good. That’s—good.”

You reach your door and turn to face him fully. He’s still looking at you, his usual easy confidence nowhere to be found. And it’s funny, really, how the thought of kissing you in front of everyone hadn’t made him hesitate, but now? Now, he’s hesitating. Now, he’s thinking too hard about it. About you.

So before he can say anything else, you push up onto your toes and kiss him.

It’s quick, barely a breath between you before you pull back, but the impact is immediate. Simon’s lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like he can’t quite process what just happened.

You step back, hand on your door handle, and give him a small nod. “Goodnight, Simon.”

Then you slip inside, shutting the door behind you, leaving him standing there in the hallway, staring at the empty space where you just were.

And for once, Simon doesn’t have a single thing to say.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @ghostslollipop @kylies-love-letter

[kiingbiing]

-