#i did not remember this show even existed

[manebioniclegali]

At this point, Marvel can't create a cohesive roadmap to save its life, let alone deal with something that needed some sort of attention long before now. Loki's story is not one they seem to have been willing to put a lot of investment in, despite the passion from both those who care about the character as part of the "customer base," if you will, along with the actor himself. They did okay enough with the show (which has issues both as a solo character piece along with how it alters the MCU at large), but I don't think they used whatever kernels of interesting concepts that existed as well or as thoroughly as they could have. The MCU in general seems to have lost its story bible after the end of phase 3 (and there could be an argument made that they were starting to lose sight of it during that), and it shows painfully in everything they've done since.

I really, really, really hope that A4 will include some nod to Loki having been tortured that is not even slightly ambiguous. If not just to shut the door on this argument permanently.

I forgot that endgame was technically A4. Oh bloody hell we were not treated well with that one, either. It didn't even come close to giving a nod 😭 He was barely even there. Despite the stuff they definitely filmed for it. And I'm gonna be honest, I don't think the Loki series really covered it at all, but I also can't recall, which I'm asssssssuming means they didn't (I would think I'd remember something like that).

with the latest news about loki, i thought now would be a good excuse time to post some semi-relevant quotes from tom about loki’s time between the first thor and avengers movie:

“[Joss and I] talked about it a lot. We talked about this idea that Loki disappears through that wormhole of space and time, when the Bifrost is destroyed, and he kind of goes through the Seventh Circle of Hell. And he’s on his own. He’s on his own in the dark corners of the universe, and the journey he goes on is pretty horrible. It’s like getting lost in the rainforest or something. You’re going to come out the other side a bit mangled on the outside, and on the inside. And he’s made this deal with Thanos and the Chitauri […] and he’s being played too, by them. But I just think it’s interesting, actually, because we’re more interested in what that does to him as a character, because it gives us a justification for his increased menace. […] He’s much darker, and more scarred.”

“What happens in the space between the end of Thor and the beginning of The Avengers is Loki’s made some very shady deals with the gangsters on the streets of the Nine Realms.”

“In Thor, Loki is a prince of Asgard. But by the time The Avengers starts, Loki’s been around the block of the universe. He’s met some shady gangsters and he’s gone undercover and he’s come back looking a bit meaner.”

“Working with Alexandra Byrne, who was the costume designer again, saying let’s take the regality of the lost prince of Asgard, and make him a damaged pirate, so there’s evidence of some kind of experience beyond what happens at the end of Thor. And then talking with Joss about his evolved psychology and how, in the space between the end of Thor and the beginning of The Avengers, Loki has gone through a whole bunch of stuff which will register on his mind and on his body and will change who he has to become. It’s really exciting!”

“I think somewhere between the end of Thor and the beginning of The Avengers, Loki has been to the Marvel equivalent of the 7th circle of hell. At the end of Thor you see him let go. He lets go of the spear, he lets go of Asgard, and he lets go of the need of his brother and father’s affection and approval. He has bigger plans now.”

“[He’s] more mischievous. More evil. More hubristic. More delusional. More damaged. More badass. He doesn’t want revenge so much as identity. Belonging. Purpose. Self-esteem. Through delusional dreams.”

“I think he went, like, with everything else to—Joss Whedon and I discussed it—to a sort of… It was just, like, the worst place imaginable. I think he went to sort of all of the darkest recesses of the universe. I’m sure he had a brush with— several brushes with death. I think he ran into the shadiest characters you can find in the nine realms. I think he had to rely on his wits to protect himself. It was really, really, really unpleasant, I think. And all I have to— I don’t have any frame of reference for that, really, except for imagining what it might be like to be kidnapped by a terrorist cell or something and have to survive a very, very frightening and precarious existence. But whatever it was, it was important when Loki came back for the Avengers that whatever compassion he had left was absolutely shriveled to a minimum because of the experience that he had. Harrowing, I think, and scarring for life—in a way that Thor and Odin and Frigga find very, very difficult to understand.”

“The back story for us was that when Loki lets go of that spear at the end of Thor he is doing it both literally and metaphorically, he’s letting go of his affection for Asgard—his connection to it, his need for Odin’s love, and he disappears into the wormhole. The audience thinks is he dead, but where he’s gone is he’s sort of been to the seventh circle of hell and back and along the way has met these aliens and made a shady deal with them and they’ve found the Tesseract. Loki was brought up with the expectation of entitlement—he was born to rule, both Thor and Loki were born to be kings. And yet, there is no kingdom for Loki, so he has to find one. So he’s come down to earth to subjugate humanity and rule the human race as their king. I guess we’ve skirted over the facts of where Loki disappeared to, but we’ve imagined that he’s had a pretty horrible time and this is his kind of last chance at giving himself an identity or a home, somewhere to belong to.”

[occasionalsnippets]

I’m curious about Tim and MC’s relationship.

Like, is Tim grateful for the fact that MC took care of him?

Does he know that MC took his shifts as Robin so he wouldn’t deal with B’s bad days/nights?

Does he know that Jack and Janet didn’t really like MC?

How much does he resent Jack and Janet?

How does he bond/show his love for his sibling?

Also, how would the members of the Batfam bond with MC? (Before and After Damian snitched)

And what do the Batfam think of MC?

- Storm.Anon

Focusing on just Tim for this! Send another ask for other Batfam members owo because I do want to individually dig into each relationship.

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations

Their relationship is both less complicated and more complicated than it should be. On one hand, you’re Tim's older sister-caretaker-parental figure-best friend- who can’t be categorized neatly into any singular category. On the other hand, none of those categories matter when you are the person he trusts more than anyone else in the world. More than he trusts himself.

Your parents do not hate you. You were an accident (huge, immensely big, giant accident) but they do care for you in some nebulous, difficult to discern, rich-people kind of way. They give you all the money you could want. They teach you the rules of high society and how to deal with the company. They try. Sometimes.

In many ways, you are their protege and student before a lot of things but you are still your mother’s child. A reflection of Janet Drake in every way that matters with a mind like a steel trap and a mouth that murmurs sweet poison. It is one of the main things Tim notes as a child when he thinks of you and mother.

The biggest mark against your parents, really, is the neglect. Their children weren’t their number one priority and both you and Tim knew. They could be worse. They could be better. C+ parenting all around.

Tim’s view on Jack and Janet are a bit fickle? Inconsistent? Complicated? He had wished for a very long time when he was younger for them to come home more often but he never really processed the whole situation until you forced everyone to get therapy. There’s quiet sadness in his feelings about his parents but not really resentment, not like you.

Not that those feelings have anywhere to go anymore. Both of you still grieved during their funerals.

Tim gives you gifts on mother and father's day and overtime the message written in the cards attached get longer and sillier. He still remembers the stillness of your initial reaction when he first presented you with a card.

He hadn't really noticed how much you did behind the scenes until he got older and realized you were internalizing a hell of a lot of things. His early days of existence are marked by your ever encompassing presence in his life. His parents leave. You stay. You always stay even as he digs himself into the pit that is becoming Robin.

He can always rely on you. If there is any truth in his life then it is that you will always be there for him. So, when you tell him with dark shadows cast upon your face that he shouldn't go out as Robin tonight, he accepts with minor protests.

You keep detailed reports on patrol to keep everyone updated when you're filling in as Robin and the ones from Tim's early days are... rough. Tim reads them because of course he does, and talks with you about it. A lot. You insist that he shouldn't have to deal with Batman because Tim is like 13 and Tim keeps saying that he chose this. So, the two of you compromise on it. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?

No one else really reads the old patrol reports. What happens during the early days stays between you and Tim and Bruce. Tim thinks Bruce still feels guilty about it, about both him and you.

Tim shows affection for you the same way you show affection. He'll go to company meetings in your stead. He learns to cook and bring meals to you when you're too busy. He orders materials for your hobbies whenever he notices you're running out.

Your relationship is not immune to normal sibling shenanigans though. You yell, you fight, he stands a centimetre away from the entrance of your room for no apparent reason, the two of you want to kill each other sometimes because "mother and father always liked you better-" and "I never wanted to raise you-"

You and Tim are so crazily co-dependent even if it isn't obvious. You're a bit less dependent than he is but you've also revolved your life around him and everything you do is basically for him so how true that statement is can be debated.

Sometimes you think you need him in order to be allowed to exist. There is no role for you except in reference to him, to your little brother who you'd give the world to.

Tim literally doesn't know how he'd survive or live without you. You taught him unconditional love. You're his favourite person. You've always protected him. He can't fathom the idea of existing without you.

You're impossible to separate from him and him from you. Aren't the two of you one and the same? Where does one end and the other begin? Who is he if not a reflection of you and who you raised him to be?

Alsjfjak so yeah. The Siblings. Them.

[067supremacy]

Jealousy

Just some good old Jealousy trope! This was something I found in my drafts from a while ago so not my best work but I hope you enjoy! ❤️

For more check my masterlist

Your team had just managed to make it through to the next round of games. Whether it was sheer luck or divine intervention, you did it. Sae-Byeok held your hand tightly as she couldn't handle the fact her long-term partner was almost killed in front of her very eyes. Luckily for her and you, number 289 a blonde girl with Sharp features who you had invited onto the team had saved your life. The speed at which it all happened left you stunned and on shaky legs. Luckily your girlfriend Sae-Byeok was able to walk you out of the arena as you didn't feel you had the strength to do so anymore.

The gunshots ring out behind you as the team you had just eliminated is sent to their deadly maker. "That could have been us," you weakly call out to no one in particular, your mind didn't even take in who had taken your hand as you were still in a daze. A voice from behind you rang through all the buzzing going around in your brain. "You did great, we couldn't have won that round without you." The blonde who saved your life says in a cheery voice. Looking back at the game itself you can't even remember a single thing you did, Sae-Byeok took on most of the hard work for you. She was doing everything in her power to make sure you got over the line, once again showing the loyalty and love she has for you.

After making it back to the Main Hall with the bunk beds lined up the piggy bank above your head fills with the cash of the fallen. The mountain of money gets bigger and you realise that your and Sae-Byeok's dream of getting her family back together under one roof is finally in sight. The blonde from before took a seat next to you and your girlfriend. "That's a lot of money, I hope it is enough to get me out of debt" you hear a person behind you say as the multiple groups speak among themselves. It was all becoming tribalistic now, the groups were getting smaller and less trustworthy, you had the stance of making as many friends as possible but your girlfriend didn't trust easily, and she certainly didn't trust any of the low lives and criminals she was sharing this space with.

The Blonde girl rubbed your shoulder and asked how you were doing which had gotten Sae-Byeok gritting her teeth in anger but she bit down on her tongue and let it slide given that this same girl had just saved you. But the squeeze on your hand became painfully tight leading you to yelp out in pain which snaps her out of her thoughts instantly. “I’ll be back in a second,” Sae-Byeok says before making her way to the women’s restroom. She checked herself in the mirror as she cleared away the specs of blood on her face before a familiar blonde girl appeared next to her. “You’re a very lucky person.” She says as she washes her hands in the same faucet Sae-Byeok was using. “What?” Sae-Byeok responds with confusion on her face and voice.

“I would do anything to make that mine…. Watch your back because I’m coming for what is yours.” The blonde girl says all the while giving your girlfriend a cheeky smile as she starts to pace back to your position. Upon Sae-Byeok's return the after-game snacks and drinks were being served to the remaining contestants as your partner scanned the room for your existence she spotted you in a crowd, still able to pick you out of the many around you. But then she witnesses the same blonde making you laugh. She balled her hand into a fist and started storming her way to your location, she pushed the blonde out of the way and took hold of your waist while planting a kiss on your cheek. “Are you okay?” She asks with genuine concern as she studies your features. “I’m okay,,, can’t say the same for the poor girl you just threw to the floor” you respond in amusement. You knew exactly what was going on, it happened far too many times outside the games…. She was getting Jealous.

“She said she wanted what is mine…. I’ll never let that happen.” Sae-Byeok spits with venom laced in her voice at the thought of this bitch taking her pride and joy. You pull her face to while cupping her cheek to be nose to nose with her. Lips brushing close together. “Does she know that I’m owned by you? If not you should show her.” You say seductively to Sae-Byeok knowing that would perk her up, you knew she loved nothing more than making it clear who you belonged to. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and bites down slightly, producing small moans from you that no one seems to notice except for the one pair of eyes Sae-Byeok was hoping was seeing all of this. She kissed you deeply, her tongue mingling with yours in a dance for dominance which she easily wins. You take your position as the bottom very seriously knowing it pleased Sae-Byeok beyond belief to know you were fully committed to her. As the kiss breaks apart you decide to calm her mind completely.

“I’m yours, you have nothing to worry about…. I think you should remind me of that in the restroom.” You say as you take her hand and quickly make your way to enjoy a jealousy-fueled session you are sure to remember………

[sgiandubh]

Hola, hola! Pregunta de novata asombrada: De veras se casó con ese señor? Habláis de certificado de matrimonio que alguien se molestó en buscar? OMG...

Dear Novata Asombrada Anon,

En cuanto a todos mis anónimos hispanos, espero que no te importe que te contestaré en inglés, como muestra de cortesía hacia la gran mayoría de mis lectores. Gracias y aquí vamos con la traducción de tu pregunta. Y, para que no se me olvide, ¡bienvenida!

Hello, hello! Question from a shocked newbie: Did she really marry that man? Are you talking about a marriage certificate that someone bothered to look for? OMG…

Good morning and thank you for asking - you are not the only one today, it would seem. This question is making the rounds again (why?) and let's call this a (fortunate?) coincidence. The Marriage Certificate (MC) was the equivalent of the Great Christian Schism between Rome and Byzantium, in this fandom, mind you. Depending on your own take on the S&C Saga, it has been dreaded, expected, announced with great confidence and actively researched by fans, who simply took advantage of a very relaxed and transparent UK legislation, allowing for basically everyone to order a certified copy by email or snail mail, for a small fee.

The first fan aggressively trumpeting it online was (correct me if I am wrong) an ex-shipper who now goes by the handle of @brian-in-finance, also known as BIF, also known as Kidneystone. In her pedantic and arrogant little voice, she made a point of honor in dissecting absolutely every single detail of that dutifully certified piece of paper issued by the British General Register Office (GRO). A second, short-lived account, @hurleyburly, ordered the same paper and posted it on Tumblr, this time pudically hiding some details under a makeshift post-it. The usual fandom fortunetellers thought the handwriting on that 'post-it' was eerily similar to S's own, but we'll leave it at this. Although, I have to immediately add, I would not discount this possibility. A third prominent shipper account, @boyneriver-fraser, ordered it and made pathetic public amends over her previous shipping stance. Some others imitated them and received the exact same paper, followed by a seemingly endless trail of wrath, confusion and wailings.

People were understandably shocked, hurt and in definite anger over this. Many disembarked the ship, considering they had been either blind/idiot or cynically fooled by our Dynamic Duo, eager to sell the show. Speculation went rife. Some even tried to go the extra mile and believe they found out even more inconsistencies. I shall not speak on their behalf, simply because I was not here at the time and had no idea These Two will become such an (often invading) point of interest in my own life.

But irrespective of any inconsistencies, this paper legally exists. As such, it has legal effects that cannot and should not be discounted. I have always maintained it, as a professional. Likewise, I have consistently explained the Ibiza episode might be anything you could think of, from a romantic (?) picnic on a parking lot with a bird featuring a strange toupee (as per C's tweeted chirp), to a non legally binding handfasting ceremony (remember, LOL, 'some things are just for' Them). I have explained very early after my arrival why I do not think a Spanish marriage was in the cards. This is my final word about that #CarparkIbiza fanfic:

[Link: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/723029524897529856/i-have-asked-a-few-very-popular-bloggers-this?source=share - July 16, 2023]

More clearly put, national Spanish legislation requires the two foreign citizens to be residents in Spain, if they want to get married there. British consulates do not perform marriage ceremonies, either. And cross-border marriage rules in Europe, at the time applicable to a not yet Brexited UK, would have mandatorily required a transcription of the marriage papers in Britain. This is not the USA, where you can just go to Vegas, have your knot tied by an Elvis lookalike and divorce the next (hungover) morning. Or go to Tijuana and do what Sophia Loren and Carlo Ponti did in 1957, to great (bigamous) scandal. Rules are different. Rules exist, as stupid and cold as they might look. And one more time - they have tangible consequences.

At this point in time, you might logically ask yourself why I am still here. Is it because of the feeling of power and self-importance, as some nasty Anons remind me every single day? Is it because of the formidable people I have met in here? Yes, it is also because of them, but not only because of them, of course. And as far as any feeling of power and self-importance go, let's just say it's ridiculous to think so.

The reason I am still here is both simple and complicated to understand: a paper, even certified, does not a marriage make. Mark me, Anon: there is nothing (I repeat: nothing) normal about this one. There are secrets and lies and inconsistencies and gaslighting galore. The shippers know it. The Antis/Mordor know it. The Fencers know it. And every single one of these broad factions apparently has ample supplies of popcorn. And, as far as we go, champagne bottles stashed, plus a firm decision to have a Global Lollapalooza on the Internet the day this awkward situation would come to an end.

I have tried to answer your very legitimate question the best I could. I do not believe in sugarcoating or hiding anything. What I do believe in, is the power of critical thinking and the ability to coldly analyze facts, even if they do not encourage fantasy. You would be surprised of the things that do not click, in that official Narrative. Important things, not speculation. My blog primarily deals in this kind of stuff: things that do not click and paint a very different story than the one officially being peddled around.

And now, dear Shocked Newbie Anon, you are free to disembark, if you think I am still lying to you (what for, may I ask? just to receive every single day violent garbage into my Inbox?). But if you choose to stay with us, the tea is always brewing, somewhere. And mind you, it's often the finest Oolong you could find, because I honestly believe that we have the most formidable and unexpected assortment of witty minds and strong characters, in here.

[genderqueerdykes]

this is prob silly but i appreciate you being so candid about not interacting with much media (like film/tv/pop culture stuff). it's kind of hard to be on tumblr or really even exist if you're not able to interact with media but it's a big trigger for me so i just... can't. like, i've never had anyone understand that it's not a choice i'm making to be special/different/lazy i just have extreme and unhealthly reactions to most media, except some books and comics. which idk if that's how it is for you (its not my business or anything) but i've never felt seen/represented about it before so im thankful, yk?

i appreciate you for sending this! i don't find it silly at all

i think it's very good for you to acknowledge that you have an unhealthy relationship with most forms of media. i'm sorry that you're going through this, but consuming media is not a requirement nor is it something that you genuinely need for your mental health, so it's okay that that's how you feel. i appreciate this because it gives me a chance to talk about something that is important to me, but people struggle to understand why that is

my parents used to make fun of whatever i was watching or playing as a kid over my shoulder. i used to get relentlessly mocked every time i put on a show i liked or played a game in front of either of them. it caused me to have severe trauma for years where i couldn't watch or play anything around other people at all. i still don't like when people ask me to put on things that i do like for a big group. the stress i feel when other people don't enjoy it is not worth it. i'm still very uncomfortable doing this to this day

i've felt pretty alienated all my life due to this. it seems like now more than ever, media, especially fictional media, is so important to general modern culture that it creates a barrier between people who do and don't engage. and it's not like it's a passive thing, i have people get offended at me when i say i haven't seen a movie or TV show. not talking about anyone on here, or any anons i've answered about media! people have been kind and respectful here. but in my real life and in conversations with other people, i have genuinely been mocked or insulted because i don't engage with most television, movies, books and comics.

i've had people question my autism over this. when i've told people in the past that i do not engage with pop culture, fictional media and so on, i've had people actually say "but i thought you were autistic????" like it's genuinely frustrating that it seems like people have shifted to thinking that autistic people's special interests are always cartoons, games and TV shows. it worries me because at times it feels like people are turning the common definition of autism into Media Consumption Disorder. my special interests are queer history & culture, animals & nature, and medicine & psychology. i genuinely enjoy research, it's something i happily do for hours because it stimulates my brain and motivates me. it excites me just as much as i think fiction excites people who can enjoy it. it's more than okay for autistic people to have a piece of media as their special interest, i'm not saying that its not! but it frightens me that people seem to conflate "autistic" with "loves fictional media".

due to my DID, i can't remember plots. like at all. plots confuse the ever loving hell out of me because i can't keep track of what's going on. real life doesn't have a plot. science doesn't have a plot. i don't know if fully understand the point of a plot, honestly. expecting people to be able to remember such an absurd amount of information in order to figure out something that happens down the road or at the very end feels like a herculean task to me. i can't remember what happened to me 10 minutes ago, there's no way i'm remembering a tiny event that happened hours and hours and hours ago. scripted interactions feel so stiff and unnatural to me

people tell me i'm saying i don't know what they're talking about to "be an asshole". i used to have a best friend who got really into dungeons&dragons and it traumatized me for years because i got into at first, then quickly lost interest once i realized how boring actually playing the game is for me. my friend did NOT take it well. he continued to force me to play. if i would ask him to please change the conversation topic he would start insulting and berating me and telling me that i was pretending to not be interested anymore to be mean to him. he couldn't understand that i grew out of it. he never got any better with this, as he was obsessed with marvel films and would get super pissed off if i told him i had no interest or didn't know what to say to him. it was frustrating because i didn't have a choice whether or not i could like something. it was "if you don't like this, you're an asshole."

and it's not just him that's treated me that way. it's been most of my friends. for whatever reason, when you tell the average person that you haven't seen, or god forbid don't like a piece of media, they take it personally for... some reason. as if i said "no i don't watch that because that's bad" as opposed to what i actually say is "i don't know what that is" or "i haven't seen that". you would not believe how insecure people get when you tell them you don't like a piece of media they like. i'm not sure why people feel like their favorite media is an extension of themselves, but it's an unhealthy relationship. it's not healthy to get offended if your friend tells you they haven't seen a piece of media that you have.

i have aphantasia, which is the inability to picture things in my head. i don't get "sucked into" media like people with clearer mind's eyes do. i don't picture anything cool or epic or fun happening in my head because i can't. as a result, i don't get pulled into shows, i don't get invested in tabletop games, i don't really get that affected by the media that i watch because i am painfully aware that i'm staring at a pre-recorded and scripted show the entire time. i'm painfully aware that i'm staring at an actor in a costume i just cannot get immersed in most forms of media save for very rare video games but even then, i immediately stop thinking about it the second i'm done interacting with it

i just don't listen to music and that one baffles people as i'm punk. most music is just straight up overstimulating to me due to my autism. i'm not saying that music is bad, it just overstimulates the everloving hell out of me. most of the time it just hurts my ears or gives me a headache or triggers my misophonia, which results in me getting irrationally pissed off. it's not something i can control. i prefer to listen to nature sounds, very simple meditation music that is a few simple tones, or nothing at all. i actually enjoy silence. i enjoy not overloading my ears. i enjoy being alone with my own thoughts. i can't think when there's too much noise happening

video games are more enjoyable than anything else due to the interactive element, but that does not mean i am paying attention to the characters or the story. it's very rare that a game can actually make me get interested in the characters themselves. i'm just there for the gameplay. generally i prefer games like rollercoaster tycoon, tower unite and other games that don't have a plot at all and are strictly focused on gameplay. i have no idea how people memorize all the different characters and interactions and story beats in games that have an overarching plot.

it's a personal choice. you're allowed to choose what your hobbies and interests are. if pop culture stresses you out, you do not have to engage. i just straight up do not get pop culture references at all and i've had people laugh at me for it but i just really don't care, it's not what i'm interested in as a person. i feel like a lot of people aren't quite realizing that most popular media is made for profit, not to be something genuinely well written or entertaining. i'm not saying those things are bad but what i am saying is that it's a product meant to be consumed in order for you to help a generally huge company profit. there's very little soul and whimsy when it comes to most AAA games and big box office films. the artistic integrity is severely lacking

anyway, thank you for giving me a chance to talk about this more at length! it's why i'm just very honest about it because i'm not going to force myself to change my interests because some people find how i approach life strange, or take it personally. you're allowed to choose what you interact with and don't. you're allowed to define your own interests and hobbies. and i think you're doing a great thing by acknowledging that you have an unhealthy relationship with pop culture. a LOT of people do right now. it's manufactured to be addicting on purpose. binge watching things is encouraged and is becoming seen as a new norm. i don't think people like you or i deserve to be mocked for approaching life in ways that make sense to us. take care of yourself, i appreciate you!

[echantedtoon]

Turbo/King Candy x Jessica Rabbit Like S/o Headcannons

This was a request a friend really wanted from me so here it is for anyone else to enjoy.

TURBO:

-You're a flag girl for a racing game similar to Outrun or Pole Position (both 80s racing games) although the big difference was that your game wasn't as popular as Turbotime so there wasn't really any reason for the guy to be jealous of the competition. At least not until Road Blasters but that's jumping the gun a little bit.  

-You don't exactly meet each other until you finally decided to leave your game one day to go join others at Tapper's for the anniversary of Litwak's arcade opening or some similar celebration that many other games were celebrating. Of course your taller than the average video game women height and body type would turn some heads and the smaller racer was no exception. 

-Dude literally has to strain his neck for a double take just to be sure he was seeing things from the amount of surgery root beer he's consumed by now. But once he confirms that you actually exist- MAN. IS. SMITTEN. ON. SIGHT!! I'm talking about the guy chokes on his drink as you gorgeously smile his way even if you weren't smiling at him, just his general direction, but it gives him enough confidence to make his move. 

-He starts by buying you a drink, Tapper setting it right in front of you, before this tiny man gracefully struggled to climb onto the stool next to you slicking his helmet back like it was hair, and giving you a sly smile. "Hey, Baby.~ Are you a parking ticket?~ Cuz you got FINE written all over you?~"

-If it doesn't work out the first time be prepared for MANY 80s pick up lines including- "If I had to rate you from one to ten I'd give you a nine because I'm the one you need." "Hey. I'm writing a phone book. Can I have your number to put in it?" "Hey, Doll face. Wanna get physical?~" And other similar ones not considered cringey quite yet.

-He's pretty egotistical in personality so expect him to brag about everything involving him to you. His trophies, his winning streak, how his game's the most popular in the arcade, how he totally beats the Turbotime Twins in everything- Did he mention that he's also the greatest racer ever? He's trying to prove how much you should be smitten too often inviting you to come view him race.

-He secretly daydreams about you being the one that waves the checkered flag upon him crossing the finish line and plastering him in affection with him showing off to the world. Gold trophy in one hand while holding a beautiful woman in the other. Everyone knows his deep crush on you. 

-Remember when Felix and Calhoun kissed and little hearts appeared? Yeah. That happens every time he thinks about you or he happens to see you in Grand Central Station or Tapper's. Other's make fun of him for that a lot and he absolutely hates it and denied it every time but everyone and their programmers know about his crush. It's super obvious by this point.

-If by some reason you do happen to date him expect him to brag about having the most beautiful girlfriend in the entire arcade. "Hey, Pac-Man. How's Mrs. Pac-Man? Guess what?! My girlfriend's hotter than that yellow beachball reject!!" You're going to have to stop him from opening his mouth before Pac-Man tries to eat him again and he was very close to Mario just goomba stomping him after he insulted Princess Peach/Toadstool. Please stop this idiot from insulting everyone's wife before someone punts him back to Turbotime.

-He's not picky about personality and would genuinely love you but he'd be very happy if you were able to knock him down a peg(he thinks it's hot his girl can kick his behind-) or two. If you pick him up he'll also fight against it and complain the entire time you hold him, but ngl he's actually very into it. He has a thing for taller women after all...Even if he hates it when you tease him or hold things out of his reach.

-However one of the downsides of you deciding to pursue the relationship with him is his jealousy. Doesn't matter who's approaching you, if Turbo's around he always gives them a death glare that can put Bowser's fire breath to shame. So some game characters might avoid you because of that temper. And if someone were to flirt with you- Overprotective guard dog with rabies he is. Don't underestimate him because of his height. More than once he's started a bar fight at Tapper's over someone getting too close or attempting to make unwanted advances especially if you had already said no. 

-Don't underestimate him because of his height. More than one person has had a personal experience with Turbo turning into an angry honey badger infested with rabies as he was provoked.  People have learnt quickly to not make fun of his height, and to not try any funny business around you. More than once you'd have to pry him off someone and walk away with him tucked under your arm screaming profanities like a crazy Chihuahua.

KING CANDY:

-IK he's just Turbo in disguise but his personality shift in his KC disguise is notable enough to be different from how OG Turbo would go about it. However like OG Turbo once he sees you he's absolutely smitten by you. Unlike OG Turbo however his approach to you is much more normal if by normal having a guy with Tinkerbell shoes shuffle up to you and tell you how much your eyes remind him of sparkling rock candy.

-Honestly this pairing gives more of the Jessica and Rodger Rabbit vibes. Goofy little man with a gorgeous knockout GF. His goofball charms and shyer attempts at courting you are probably what got you falling for this man in the beginning.

-Instead of eyeing your form like many others, this man instead decides to court you in the most cheesy ways possible. Bringing you chocolates and other candy from his game(it's not like there's a limited amount of  it). Flowers (specifically either chocolate roses or edible flowers arrangements). Love notes, those really cheesy ones that don't even rhythm but they're so sweet you don't mind. 

-Mans loves you endlessly and will spend hours just gazing at you with literal heart eyes with hearts popping around his head. Very sweet alongside being goofy. Surprisingly a romantic too. Offers to drive you around on the back of his car. Plans at least one date that has you both sharing two straws in one milkshake. If he's feeling really romantic then he gets you those Valentine's hard candies shaped like hearts or those red lollipops also shaped like hearts. He even dedicates his wins to you in an attempt to impress you.

-Speaking of- He's very much the Rodger Rabbit of your relationship. Always gazing goofily at you with a love struck grin to the point Sour Bill has caught him daydreaming of you all lovestruck with a dopey grin. He's a king so anything you want in Sugar Rush is at your disposal. Want a glass of chocolate milk? How about a front row seat to watch the races? Would you like Sour Bill as a personal servant? Sour Bill completely disagrees with that last gesture.

-You once agreed to be a flag girl for one of the Random Roster Races, ironically one HE won, and when you gave him a winner's kiss he's been begging you to wave the checkered flag at other races too.

-Very sweet and energetic. If his goofy antics aren't making you giggle or smile, he's always flirting with you with cheesy puns since he's a guy who loves a play on words. "Are you a piece of cake? Custh you're the scheetest.~" "What's sweet and curvy? A candy cane of courseth but you're better.~" "Your voice is more beautiful than golden honey.~" "Did you sit in sugar? C-Cuzth that's -...Gumdrops! Forget what I said." He tried being more bold but ended up becoming too flustered and couldn't finish that last bit.

-You're going to get lots of cute candy nicknames. Honey. Sugar. Honeypie. Gumdrop. Angel cake. Cupcake. Sweetheart. Sweet cheeks. Tootsie pop. When he's feeling more romantic or sentimental he'll call you more special names like My Dear, Darling, My Queen, etc. 

-When you pick him up and kiss him he just melts in your arms. Giving a loud 'HOHO!' as you press kisses to his cheeks and forehead leaving him a bright cherry red and kiss marks all over his face. The first time that happened it left him just staring off into space blue screened but now he just blushes all over and this just might be his new favorite thing ever!

-If he ever proposes to you it's either going to be with one of those ring pops or with a gem made of the shiniest rock candy he can find.

[palesweetscherryblossom]

Preening

Warning: Mentions of abduction, forced marriage/affection, general angst and blackmail. Hawks is a sleazy birb. (S/c is skin color and f/s is favorite scent)

You’d grown sick of the red that blinded your every waking moment. You couldn’t decipher why at first. Most would find it silly that you had grown to loathe something so mundane like a color but you figured out why soon enough.

His wings, those freakishly beautiful wings. Hawks had proven himself an anomaly in the royal court and general society. Half man, half bird. Legends tended to cultivate from his magnificent gift.

From being cursed by his spiteful warlock of a father to being raised by birds and his wings just being a massive amount of feathers he glued to himself.

It didn’t matter, you hated them all the same. So invasive, so pushy. They were soft though, pretty too in the early hours of dawn.

“Canary~” You instantly perked up like a startled sheep at the sound of your Fiancé’s smooth, sing song voice. You weren’t even doing anything bad but you acted like you had your hand deep in the cookie jar.

Your jaw clenched, s/c fingers digging into the annoyingly soft comforters as you watched Keigo enter into your room like he was invited! Well, he kinda always had permission since it was his castle and you were his…

Your stomach churned, threatening to hack up the roasted chicken and mashed potatoes Keigo fed you. You weren’t his, you never were. It was a fleeting moment of comfort.

“Y-yes Sir Keigo?” You queried hesitantly, hating that you stammered ever so slightly. Might as well put a big old sign on your person that says ‘baby me!’

Keigo frowned, unappreciative of your formal response. No, you weren’t some member of the court or even a flunky. You were his mate, his spouse!

“Remember what we talked about, Dove?” The sickeningly sweet nickname rolled off his tongue in a way that made you wanna shove him in an oven.

“You don’t have to call me such formalities! You’re my fiancé after all.” He assured, bearing a smile but his eyes flashed with an eerie sort of primal challenge.

“What do you want?” You asked, sitting up in your bed that also became your prison. Keigo smiled happily, joining you on the bed.

Feathers fell briefly onto the fabric you rolled yourself into for any means of comfort. A gateway to dreams where you could temporarily forget your own existence were gilded cages and that stupid shade of red didn’t attempt to bother you!

You resisted the urge to swipe away the feathers.

“Did you know that birds preen each other in a means to show affection?” Keigo asked. You blinked almost dumbly.

You hadn’t read any books that detailed anything of the sort so this couldn’t be an attempt to invade your hobbies. “N-no I have not, Keigo.” You answered, Hawks smirked.

He stretched out his wings ever so slightly, rustling his soft feathers. “Since we’re to be married in a few days, I was thinking that you ought to preen my wings. They say that intimacy is one of the pillars of a relationship.”

You were almost shocked by his audacity. He wanted you to preen him after he had blackmailed your poor parents into letting him marry you?!

You wanted to shove him away, maybe bludgeon his stupid smug face in with a candlestick.

“Here, let me get us started.” Hawks summoned a few supplies for such a method. “I usually have my servants do this for me but I wanna feel you.” He admitted.

You stared down at the items then the horrifying amount of feathers. It’d take forever for him to leave! “Don’t be intimidated, canary. Do you need help?” Keigo queried, his voice soft and sweet like a serenade.

“You rub the oil on the feathers then you brush them out.” He instructed, taking the vial of sweet smelling oil and dabbed some on your hands.

“It’s f/s! Your dad told me it was one of your favorites.” He chirped, proud of himself for being so considerate. You stared down at the oil, numbly even. Your favorite scent now made you incredibly nauseous.

You hated it. Unlike King Midas who turned everything into gold, Prince Keigo turned everything you loved into a place of hate.

He might as well be the Lord of Decay after all the disintegration of all your joy. You hesitantly pressed your hands to his wings, causing Hawks to sharply gasp and his wings to puff up.

“Oh, canary, your hands feel so soft.” He purred lowly, relaxing his wings. With each rub you gave, you couldn’t help but desire to take a fat helping of wings and tear them off. No different than plucking a chicken.

“I knew I made the right decision choosing you, Birdy.” Hawks mused, relaxing into your hands. “Say, do you think our little hatchlings would inherit this ability?”

Your tears meshed with the oil

@gh0stgirl333

[writteninkat]

Adoration's Abyss | Bakugou , Stalker Reader

synopsis: He was the untouchable star, and I was just another face in the crowd—until I wasn’t. What starts as admiration spirals into something far darker when love turns to obsession, and boundaries blur between devotion and delusion. You really are different from other girls… but at what cost?

w/c: idk i was hoping for 5k, i hope it reached

warnings: stalking

a/n: hey i wrote this while i was at the beach for five days. update on my life: been getting into poetry and essay writing again. finally had the balls to share my work with my friends and family lol

navigation

The moment I saw him, the world folded itself into something smaller, something manageable, as if the chaos of existence could be trimmed to fit within the orbit of his gaze. Katsuki Bakugou: a name that rippled through crowds like a thunderclap, his presence igniting every room he entered with the ferocity of a supernova. He wasn’t just an idol; he was a phenomenon, a living pyre burning too bright for ordinary mortals.

And yet, there I was. Just another face in the sea of adoration, clutching my ticket to the meet-and-greet like it was a lifeline to salvation.

“Hi, Katsuki! I loved you in—”

He cut me off, sharp as a blade but not unkind. “In Beyond the Blast?” His voice was rough, gravelly—a symphony of jagged edges.

I faltered. Did I seem too predictable? Too common? A sheep in the flock of screaming fans? My heart plummeted.

“Pouts are overrated,” I said, forcing a small smile, my voice softening into something calculatedly vulnerable. “I want to be different. Not just like…other girls. I loved you in the Eclipsed show, but also in Burning Hearts, Live Loud, Infrno's Edge...” I trailed off, naming a more obscure project, the kind only the most dedicated fans would know. I even threw in a few lines about a candid interview he once did, where he spoke about how sunsets reminded him of fleeting time.

His expression shifted—slightly, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough. The ghost of amusement danced on his lips, and he said, “Maybe you really are different from other girls.”

Inside, I was roaring. Victorious. Outside, I laughed softly, demurely. “Maybe.”

I am so much worse.

When I left the meet-and-greet, I told myself it was enough. To stand in his presence, to hear his voice aimed in my direction—wasn’t that already more than most could hope for? But hope is a greedy thing. It feeds on itself, growing hungrier with every indulgence.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His voice lingered in my ears like a song on repeat, the low rasp of it curling around my thoughts. I replayed our brief exchange in my head, editing and polishing it, imagining what I could’ve said to make him linger just a second longer.

And then, of course, I opened the scrapbook.

It started innocently, as these things always do. A collection of concert photos, magazine clippings, interviews. But now, as I flipped through the pages, it felt insufficient. Two-dimensional. Katsuki wasn’t just a face on a page. He was a force, raw and untamed, and these flattened images could never capture him.

I needed more.

When I heard about his upcoming promotional event, I didn’t hesitate. The tickets were sold out within seconds, but I had connections—or rather, I made them. A fan forum moderator owed me a favor, and I cashed it in without a second thought.

The event was in a sleek, glass-paneled venue that gleamed under the city lights. I arrived early, blending seamlessly into the crowd. I wore my best dress—not flashy, but memorable. Just enough to catch his eye again.

This time, I didn’t bother with the front row. No, I wanted to watch from a distance, to see the full scope of his energy. He moved onstage like a storm contained within the fragile frame of a man. His voice electrified the room, his words sparking laughter and applause.

But every now and then, his gaze flickered over the crowd, scanning faces. Did he remember me? Did his eyes pause, even for a fraction of a second, on mine?

I convinced myself they did.

It was after the event, during the afterparty, that things began to change. I wasn’t supposed to be there, of course, but slipping past security was easier than I thought. People underestimate how much you can achieve when you’re polite, invisible, and just persistent enough to not raise alarms.

He was there, naturally—leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. A few people approached him, but he brushed them off with a curt nod or a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And then, somehow, I was beside him.

“Hey,” I said softly, almost shyly. “I’m surprised you’re not the center of attention.”

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he might not remember. But then his expression shifted—a flicker of recognition, like a match striking against stone.

“You again,” he said.

From that moment on, it was as though I had been given permission. Not by him, of course, but by the universe. Surely this was fate, wasn’t it? To have crossed paths with him twice, in places swarming with thousands of people?

I began to learn things. Little things, at first—his preferred coffee shop, the route he took to the gym, the kind of music he played in his car when he thought no one was listening. These were harmless details, gathered with the precision of a collector adding rare gems to their trove.

But soon, harmless wasn’t enough.

The first time I followed him home, I told myself it was a mistake. I had been walking in the same direction, and it was pure coincidence that his apartment building loomed ahead of me. But then I did it again. And again.

His building was tall, sleek, and anonymous, but I found ways to breach its defenses. A delivery uniform, a borrowed ID badge—small deceptions that felt exhilarating in their simplicity.

I never crossed the final line. I never entered his apartment, though I knew exactly which door was his. Instead, I lingered in the shadows, content to imagine the life that unfolded within.

But imagination, like hope, is a hungry thing.

It’s funny, the way routine can warp into ritual. What began as occasional glimpses became a nightly pilgrimage. I knew his schedule better than my own. His habits—oh, how they fascinated me. The way he left his balcony door slightly ajar, as if inviting the wind—or something else. The flicker of his apartment light in the early hours, suggesting sleepless nights.

Once, I saw him standing there, silhouetted against the glow of his television, shirtless and utterly at ease. It felt intimate, watching him like that. Almost sacred.

He would never understand how much I admired him.

I started leaving small things behind. Harmless tokens—an autograph request slipped under his door, a pressed flower on his windowsill. Gifts that could be explained away if he ever noticed. They were never acknowledged, but that was fine. It wasn’t for him to notice. It was for me.

One night, he deviated from his routine. The precision of his life had always been a comfort to me—a series of movements I could predict and follow like a choreographed dance. But that night, he didn’t go home after his gym session.

Instead, he stopped at a convenience store, and I, foolishly emboldened by months of watching, followed him inside.

He was standing by the drink cooler, scanning the rows of energy drinks with a scowl. His hair was damp, his hoodie slung low over his face, and yet he was unmistakable.

I wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not yet.

But he turned, and suddenly we were face to face.

“Oh,” I said, startled into breaking the sacred silence between us. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

My heart thrummed like a caged bird. Did he recognize me from the meet-and-greet? From the afterparty? Did he know I’d been watching him all this time?

“I’m a fan,” I said quickly, keeping my voice light, casual. “We’ve met before, at your event. Twice, actually.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I thought I saw suspicion flicker across his face.

“Right,” he said finally, brushing past me with the kind of indifference that only he could make seem regal.

But as he left the store, I caught a glimpse of something in his expression—something that wasn’t indifference at all.

After that encounter, I couldn’t stop imagining what he thought of me. Did I stand out to him? Did he wonder about me the way I wondered about him? The thought was intoxicating.

I found myself becoming bolder. My nightly visits turned into longer stays. I started leaving notes with no name, no context—just fragments of thoughts I thought he might find poetic.

“The stars envy your light.”

“Even storms pause to admire you.”

“You are the reason the sun rises.”

Each one felt like a confession. A prayer.

But then one night, the notes disappeared. When I crept back to his door the following evening, there was nothing waiting for me. No sign that he had read them, or even seen them.

Had he thrown them away? Or worse—had someone else taken them before he could?

The thought burned like acid.

The line between admiration and possession is thinner than most realize. I crossed it without even noticing.

I started taking photos—not of him directly, but of the spaces he occupied. His balcony, his car parked in the same spot every night, the shadow of his figure through the curtains. My phone became a shrine, each image a sacred offering.

But it wasn’t enough.

One night, when I was sure he wasn’t home, I found myself standing at his door. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle, testing it. Locked, of course. But locks are just puzzles waiting to be solved.

I didn’t go inside—not yet. But I stood there, breathing in the faint scent that lingered in the hallway. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the abyss yawning beneath me, daring me to jump.

The day it all unraveled was unremarkable. A sunny afternoon, ordinary in every way—until I saw him again.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

She was tall, elegant, with a laugh that rang out like silver bells. She touched his arm as they walked, her presence so seamless beside him that it made my chest ache.

The world tilted, sharp and unforgiving.

How dare she? Didn’t she know? He wasn’t hers to touch, to smile at, to laugh with.

He was mine.

I followed them, of course. Through the crowded streets, past the bustling cafes and shops, until they arrived at a small restaurant. They sat by the window, their faces illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun.

I stood outside, watching, my reflection in the glass overlapping with theirs.

For the first time, I allowed myself to hate him. Not just her—him. For being so blind, so careless, so utterly indifferent to the devotion I had poured into him.

You’re supposed to be mine.

The thought felt foreign, even to me. But once it took root, it spread like wildfire.

That night, I found myself back at his apartment building. The familiar routine should have soothed me, but it didn’t. My heart was pounding, each beat a war drum, as I stared up at his window.

The light was on. He was home.

But I wasn’t standing there just to watch anymore. I wasn’t there to leave notes or flowers or to bask in the glow of his existence. No, this time, I had crossed the threshold.

I waited in the shadows until the lobby door opened. A tenant stepped out, their face buried in their phone, oblivious to my presence as I slipped inside. The elevator doors gleamed like a portal to another world.

His floor was silent. The kind of silence that feels alive, pulsing with expectation. My footsteps were soft, my breath shallow, as I approached his door.

The lockpick trembled in my hand, but I’d practiced this moment a hundred times in my mind. The faint click was both satisfying and terrifying.

And then I was inside.

It was everything I had imagined and nothing like it at all.

The apartment was minimalist, almost sterile, with only a few personal touches—a jacket draped over a chair, an empty mug on the counter. The air smelled faintly of him, a mix of cologne and something darker, more primal.

I moved slowly, reverently, like a pilgrim in a holy place. My fingers traced the edge of the kitchen counter, the back of the sofa, the spine of a book on the coffee table.

And then I saw it.

A framed photograph on the bookshelf. It was him, of course, but not alone. She was there, too—the woman from the restaurant, her head tilted against his shoulder, her smile soft and radiant.

Something inside me snapped.

The sound of the front door opening shattered the silence.

I froze, the photo still in my hand, as his voice echoed through the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m home,” he said, his tone clipped, probably on the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

The click of the call ending was deafening.

And then he saw me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, anger, disbelief.

“What the—?” he started, but the words died in his throat as his eyes dropped to the photo in my hand.

“I just wanted to understand,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Why her? Why not me?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

I stepped closer, the photo still clutched against my chest like a shield. “I’m the one who’s been there for you. Watching, supporting, loving you when no one else understood.”

His face darkened, the anger in his eyes hardening into something sharper, colder. “You need to leave. Now.”

But I didn’t move.

“You don’t see it, do you?” I whispered. “How perfect we could be. How much I’ve given up for you. She doesn’t know you like I do. She’ll never understand you the way I do.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Get. Out.”

But I wasn’t afraid—not of him, not of anything. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice steady now. “Not until you see me.”

The argument escalated quickly. His anger clashed with my desperation, the two of us locked in a battle neither could win. He tried to push past me, to call for help, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this to me.”

He wrenched free, his movements sharp and unforgiving. “You’re insane.”

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Insane.

After everything I’d done for him, everything I’d sacrificed, that was what he thought of me?

I don’t remember much after that. The emotions—rage, heartbreak, betrayal—all blurred together in a red haze. I remember the sound of something shattering, the photo frame hitting the floor. I remember his voice, shouting, but the words were lost in the chaos.

And then, silence.

When I came back to myself, I was standing in the middle of the room, my chest heaving, my hands trembling. He was gone—whether he had fled or whether I had…

I couldn’t let myself think about it.

The apartment felt different now. The air was heavier, the shadows deeper. I looked down at the shattered photo frame, the glass shards glinting like tiny stars.

I picked up the photo, carefully tucking it into my pocket.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

Katsuki would understand eventually. He had to.

After all, no one loved him like I did.

The room is cold, sterile. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re somewhere you don’t belong. A single light hangs overhead, casting harsh shadows on the walls, and the mirror on the far side reflects nothing but my own weary face.

Well, not just my face.

I know he’s there, standing on the other side. Watching me. Listening.

The officer across from me clears his throat, his expression caught somewhere between pity and disgust. “You’ve said enough. We’ve got everything we need.”

But I’m not finished. Not yet.

“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “It’s not what you think.”

He sighs, flipping through the file in front of him. I catch glimpses of photos—my notes, my gifts, his shattered photo frame. Evidence, they’d called it. Proof of my “obsession.”

“Help me understand, then,” he says, leaning forward, his tone patronizing. “Because right now, it looks like you broke into Katsuki Bakugou’s apartment and—”

“I didn’t break in,” I interrupt, my voice rising just enough to startle him. “I let myself in. He left the door open for me. He knew I was coming.”

The officer’s brows knit together in disbelief. “And why would he do that?”

I smile, leaning back in my chair, feeling the faintest flicker of triumph. “Because he needed to see me. To finally realize who I am.”

The officer shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before standing. “You’re delusional.”

The voices outside the interrogation room are muffled, but I can still hear fragments of their conversation.

“She’s nuts. Every detail she remembers—it’s like she’s been living his life alongside him.”

“Obsessed, more like. Did you see the journal we confiscated? She knows what time he brushes his teeth, for crying out loud.”

Someone else laughs nervously. “Poor guy. No wonder he’s freaked out. She’s on a whole other level.”

But then I hear his voice—low, gravelly, and unmistakable.

“She’s different.”

The laughter stops.

“What do you mean?” another officer asks cautiously.

There’s a pause, and I imagine him standing there, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face.

“I’ve had fans follow me before,” he says, his tone unreadable. “They scream, they cry, they cross boundaries. But this one… she’s worse.”

His voice drops lower, and I lean forward, straining to hear.

“She’s worse because she actually got under my skin.”

The officer returns to the room, his expression stony. “This is over. You’re being transferred soon.”

But I barely hear him. My eyes are on the mirror, on the faint outline of movement behind it. I know he’s still there. Watching. Listening.

“I’m not sorry,” I say, directing my words to him, not the officer. “I’d do it all again. For you.”

The officer exhales sharply, shaking his head as he gathers his papers. “You’re a real piece of work.”

He leaves, and for a moment, it’s just me and the silence.

And then the door opens again.

I feel him before I see him. The weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze—it’s unmistakable. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, arms crossed, his crimson eyes burning into me like fire.

“You really are different,” he says finally, his voice low and sharp.

I smile, the kind of smile that comes from knowing you’ve won something no one else ever could.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Not anger. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something that looks an awful lot like acknowledgment.

End.

a/n: another reminder to never stalk people. i didn't write this to romanticize stalking, however, this idea's been weighing in my head and i knew i needed to write it down somewhere. here is somewhere. k bye.

[lol-jackles]

Hi, you mentioned TW recently and I remembered what a disaster it was. The lack of effort and interest in making things work makes me wish that production had never seen the light of day.

But it also made me think of the problem it caused, which now seems to have been overcome. I'd like to get your opinion on this: how do men/friends handle the situation when they work together and attempts to take over the business or franchise arise? I know that the business factor has to be considered, but my question is, once the issues are resolved, does the esteem and image remain? Is it a case of forgive and forget, or forgive but don't forget?

It is worth noting that in the TW case there were interviews and accusations, some of them false and outright lies, which to some extent protected and attacked the public image, and of course a legacy was at stake. On top of that, the way it was publicised was sordid and generally a real mess.

Is it easy for men to forget these actions, do they forgive or do they hold grudges?

I ask because I think you can shed some light on this doubt, and you are aware of the whole context. Thanks for reading.

Forgive but don't forget. When the boundaries between work-friend and actual friend are blurred, it often falls on the betrayed to take a step back and determine what are the facts i.e. did he sabotage me or did he act without me in mind?  Did he put his interest first and it resulted in me suffering harm?  Depending on Jared’s answer, it may change how he sees his circumstances.  Then there is the added complexity of competition for jobs in an industry with 97% unemployment rate. 

On top of that is the natural competitiveness among males, even between friends.  Men go through the competition phase with each other in order to determine hierarchy and once that’s established, they then “reconcile” and move into the cooperative phase.  The difference between men and women is men are not supposed to leave the cooperative phase while women have no problem going from competitive to cooperative and back to competitive phase.  It’s why “frenemies” exist among women more so than men.

Jensen goes back to competing with Jared because of the scarcity of jobs in the post-SPN era and due to the codependent-ish nature of their friendship, Jensen is also competing for Jared to show that he is good enough for Jared because from Jensen’s perspective, he has known for at least 2 years since before season 13 that Jared was leaving Supernatural and to him, that also means Jared has been leaving Jensen for 2 years. In my experience from witnessing some real life enmeshed and codependents, people like Jensen don’t feel good enough and so tries to take the “mature” route by avoiding talking to their friend while feverishly working at themselves or at their jobs.  In Jensen’s case, the prequel-turned-retconned-sequel.

Jared is not competing with Jensen because he has a thriving career, and in the post-SPN era Jensen’s actions didn’t cost Jared’s career, such promotion or a job. So it makes it possible for Jared to forgive Jensen if he choose to see the betrayal as mistakes that wasn’t malicious, but as business actions.  Plus Jared may feel he partially owes his success to Jensen for talking him out of breaking is SPN contract after season 3, thus saving him from getting blacklisted by furious producers for costing them lucrative syndication deals.

Finally, Jared can forgive Jensen because he’s a friend, not a spouse.  We can tolerate a lot of red flags in friends, my friend can be bad with money and make very questionable life choices, and if worse comes to worse down the road, I’ll just stop hanging out with my friend.  But those same red flags can’t be tolerated in potential life-partners because the stakes are so much higher: buy property together, combining finances, raise a child (or pet) together, and rely on each other 100% when times get rough i.e. ill health.

[seas-of-silver]

"Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain - Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!"

‘Alya, we've talked about this hundreds of times - in all our lives we and our friends have never met someone called Marinette Dupain-Cheng - she is just a figment of your twisted imagination!’

Alya barely suppressed a growl as she glared at Nathaniel. ‘“Twisted imagination?” Seriously?’

Chloé scoffed. ‘Yeah, twisted. I mean, honestly - super-powered villains? Magical terrorists and superheroes? Who, by the way, are all animal themed and get their powers from tiny gods in jewellery? Alternate universes and time travel? Ugh! And the bit you’re flipping out about is some chick that supposedly meant to be in this class? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.’

‘Alya, we’re worried about you,’ Rose said, her wide blue eyes swimming in genuine concern. ‘You’ve been so different this past week; you look and sound and behave like our Alya, but what you’ve been saying is just so unlike yourself!’

‘It’s kinda like you’re living a nightmare in real time, or something,’ Juleka muttered, and the whole class nodded in agreement.

The whole class bar Adrien and Marinette.

Alya was smart. She had figured out something was seriously wrong when she woke up last week and found herself in her room instead of Marinette’s, where she had been sleeping over. It became even more concerning when she arrived at school and Marinette was nowhere in sight. Then she had started to panic when the seating arrangement was different, Adrien wasn’t at school either, and worst of all - Nino barely knew her.

She spent the first class trying to casually enquire about Adrien and Marinette, which led to confused responses and almost getting reprimanded by Ms Bustier, who was still their teacher and had apparently never had a child, and Chloé’s father was still Mayor of Paris.

One reassuring discovery Alya had made before lunchtime was that Adrien Agreste still existed in this weird world, but had apparently never been to their school. She also discovered that Lila Rossi had also never been to their school, but that good news was quickly soured when she found out that Lila now has strong ties to the Agreste family, and was frequently seen with them. But that didn’t stop Alya from trying to contact Adrien, though she had no success.

Alya had then started to research, and kept researching throughout the week. This weird world had no mention of recent Miraculous use; no Hawk Moth, Mayura, Ladybug or Chat Noir, and nothing of note in Shanghai or New York. Her Ladyblog was also non-existent, which was discomforting in and of itself. And there was no Marinette.

That was the part Alya was struggling to grasp. No Marinette? A world without Miraculouses was something Alya could wrap her head around, as was a reality where Adrien never went to their school, but no Marinette? So she had researched that too. Everything Alya had expected to exist were also missing - the sunglasses and album cover (and subsequent magazine article) Marinette made for Jagged Stone; Marinette’s winning submission in the derby hat competition held by Gabriel Agreste and the runway show it was displayed in; her fashion photoshoot she did with Adrien and Juleka… none of it could be found.

Alya knew this was no dream that she had found herself in - this felt more like some sort of akuma attack-related displacement… but Alya couldn’t remember there being an akuma attack while she was in Marinette’s room. The last thing Alya had remembered before waking up in this weird world was setting up for a girl’s night in while Marinette went on patrol with Chat Noir, as the new Butterfly villain, Malachite, had been annoyingly active as of recent. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

And now all her friends and classmates were looking at her like she was the weird one. Perhaps she was, at least to them.

‘You’re right, Juleka,’ Alya said sombrely, ‘this is a nightmare. Either I’ve somehow ended up in an alternate universe, or something god-awful must’ve happened for the whole world to forget about the Miraculouses in Paris, for Adrien to never have come to school here, for my own boyfriend to barely know me apart from just being one of his classmates, and for my best friend - a girl who meant so much to nearly everyone in this room - to completely vanish off the face of the earth!’

Everyone flinched at her raised voice, but she didn’t care. She was too angry, too confused, and too hurt to care about something as minor as that.

‘I- ugh! I feel like I’m going insane!’ Alya cried out, her eyes starting to sting. ‘I know what has happened here - I’ve lived it! I was a part of it! You all were part of it! But why don’t you remember? Why does no one remember? Ugh, it’s like, I don’t know, like someone’s messed with reality and gotten rid of any trace of Marinette and the Mira…cu…lou…ses…’

Alya felt violently ill. How could she have not thought of that? It all made perfect sense. But if that was really true, then Malachite must have…

‘Oh, God,’ Alya whimpered, sinking to the ground unsteadily.

The class bin suddenly appeared in front of her, just in the nick of time, and a kind, familiar hand held her hair back.

‘Can someone get the nurse or Ms Bustier?’ Nino’s voice came from right beside her. ‘She’s not doing good.’

People moved around her, but Alya could barely take it in. Her mind was overloaded with fear and horror. She needed to prove this horrific theory wrong.

‘Shh,’ came Nino’s voice again, his other hand starting to rub soothing circles on her back. ‘You’re not well, dude, and you’re shaking.’

She couldn’t dwell on that for long, as a loud commotion was happening outside and getting closer. Fear spiking within her, Alya forced herself to stand and get into a fighting position, ignoring Nino’s protests. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else, not without a fight.

The door slammed open, and Alya hesitated.

‘Alya? Thank goodness!’ Adrien cried, looking disheveled and winded. ‘I got your letters - you remember too?’

Her hands wavered. ‘Yeah. What do you remember?’

‘Oh, finally!’ Adrien exclaimed, relieved. ‘I thought I was going insane when I woke up to find Mother and Father alive and Lila-‘ he growled out, as if saying the name was like ash on his tongue, ‘-of all people was now a long-time family friend, which is revolting. But no one knows about the Miraculouses or Ladybug and Chat Noir or Hawk Moth or Malachite or akumas or anything!’ 

Alya wanted to cry - out of relief or grief, she wasn’t sure.

‘And you!’ Adrien said, pointing at Nino. ‘You hung up on me!’

Nino blinked. ‘So… that wasn’t a prank call?’

Adrien looked mortified. ‘You’ve… you’ve forgotten me? For real?’

Nino opened and closed his mouth, looking entirely uncertain about anything that was going on.

‘I was sure that you would remember me,’ Adrien continued, shaken, before looking back at Alya. ‘I tried to call everyone that I could remember the numbers of, but even Marinette isn’t picking up!’

Alya felt sick again at the mention of her name.

‘Surely you were able to get in contact with her,’ Adrien pleaded, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’ve been stuck under Father’s and Lila’s thumbs for this past week, and I was only able to escape just now.’

With Adrien so close, she could see the anxiety, desperation and fear that was threatening to consume him.

‘Please, Alya,’ he begged, ‘please tell me you found her and she’s okay. She’s in danger, and I need to ensure she’s safe.’

All Alya could do was shake her head. She felt Adrien’s hands tremble and saw his eyes fill with tears as he began to hyperventilate, before he crumbled to the floor and let out a soul-crushing cry that shattered her heart.

[generic-sonic-fan]

I know this might be niche/20, but... Do you feel writing Metaze (Metal Sonic/Blaze) as a romantic pair ? Thinking about it I was fascinated by their similarities and differences (also in main canon they've never met so it's open to freedom !)

Ah, I'm so sorry for not answering this in a timely fashion!

Regrettably, I'm actually writing an Omega/Blaze fic write now, which is sapping just about all of my very low tolerance for romance writing. However, I'd still love to imagine some headcanons for you!

He/him pronouns for Metal, but I'm happy to modify if you'd prefer different ones!

Blaze x Metal Sonic (Metaze) Headcanons!

I like to imagine they met after Metal ended up in her dimension due to shenanigans from one of Eggman's experiments with the Chaos Emeralds.

Blaze shows up after feeling the disturbance in dimensions and finds him busted up in a crater. She does remember Sonic mentioning something about a robotic copy. . .

But when Metal Sonic gets up, he doesn't attack.

He's doing two things- attempting to reconnect to the Eggnet, and frantically searching his databanks to recognize this purple cat in front of him. He fails both.

Blaze, hesitantly, holds out her hand.

He takes it.

She leads him back to her palace. On the way, she explains where he is, who she is, and where she's taking him.

(She leaves out the part about being Sonic's friend. Something tells her he doesn't need to know.)

Once in the palace, she finds a notepad and pen so that he can finally respond.

She asks him if he's alright.

He replies, "status: operational."

"Yes, but are you alright?"

She spends the next ten minutes explaining, logically yet warmly, exactly what it means to be "alright" vs "not alright", answering any questions and rebutting any constructive criticism he might have of her definition.

She then waits patiently as Metal stares at his paper and pen.

He writes, "I am alright now. How did you explain so well?"

"It wasn't an intuitive concept for me either, at first," she replies. "I had to figure it out for myself."

And that's when Metal falls head over heels right there.

I imagine the following days are very little-mermaid coded. Blaze takes Metal on a tour of the palace. Seeing that Metal is instead listening intently instead of merely putting up with her for formality's sake (as so many in the royal court often do!), she begins talking more about things that interest her, like her favorite books.

Metal is enraptured by the way she talks. More accurately, the way she treats him as a person. She even waits for him to respond with his pen and paper instead of talking over him!

And she asks him questions as well! She seems genuinely interested in getting to know him! Not Sonic, but the real him!

. . . for better or for worse.

He has to struggle with the game of "how much can I share without giving away that I'm hard-coded to serve a megalomaniac villainous overlord."

But thankfully, Blaze doesn't pry. She understands- she wasn't so eager to share much about herself before she made her first friends either. She doesn't push it.

Moving onto more general headcanons I see for them:

They, as a couple, exist in a comfortable introverted silence.

Yet in between those comfortable silences, they share very sophisticated conversations.

I've always imagined Metal being a bit high-brow about art/literature if he was ever given the chance to be.

And I think Blaze would love discussing the literary techniques of her favorite books.

I think she'd like to read to him. He finds her voice so soothing.

She feels awkward about showing affection in traditional ways, so it's actually Metal that is the super doting, romantic partner of the two.

He loves getting her flowers and holding her hand. Classic, I know.

In return, she enjoys leaning against him. While standing, while sitting, pretty much just whenever.

The first time he felt her purr just about caused him to short-circuit.

As Blaze gets more comfortable with him, she starts to wrap her tail around his waist, and on rare occasions while alone, to nuzzle against his muzzle plating.

Anyways, I also headcanon that they LOVE dancing together.

Please, for your entertainment, imagine Metal in his Neo outfit dancing in a traditional ballroom style with Blaze in her own formal attire.

He's normally a very deferential partner but while dancing I think he'd love to take the lead. Spin her around. Dip her gently towards the floor.

All and all, a very soft and low-key couple, provided that Eggman doesn't interfere and reality comes crashing down.

[coraniaid]

I think I can, if I try, just about persuade myself that Xander and Jesse were friends.

Partly because the ways in which Jesse behaves unpleasantly [his treatment of women who aren't attracted to him, his obvious self-hatred about being " a loser" who nobody wants to date; various lines that were presumably written as jokes but just come across as disproportionately mean-spirited insults] echo the ways Xander himself is also sometimes (to a lesser extent) unpleasant (especially in the first two seasons of the show). In both cases, I suspect the writers didn't quite realize how badly the character was coming across (doesn't Joss Whedon say in the DVD commentaries that some of the way Jesse behaves around Cordelia is based on things Whedon himself did as a teenager? which suggests a certain obliviousness about precisely how sympathetic this behaviour actually is).

Also, well, because you can maybe assume that Jesse is going through a (non-supernatural version) of what happens to Xander in The Pack (in that he's "turning into a sixteen year old boy", as Giles puts it) and that he didn't use to be quite so unbearable to be around (or so obsessed with Cordelia). And because the closest that Jesse ever comes to being sympathetic is when he tells Buffy he wants her to feel at home "unless you have a scary home", which -- if you try really, really hard -- you can maybe tie into the (later) implications we get about Xander's own home life [and hence conclude that on some level Jesse is aware of and sympathetic to the reality that some people -- people like Xander in particular -- do have "scary homes"].

But Willow? President of the "We hate Cordelia" Club Willow? Shy and soft-spoken computer loving nerd Willow? "I can spend my life waiting for Xander to go out with every other girl in the world before he notices me" Willow? Yeah, it just doesn't make sense to me at all that she and Jesse would be friends. The only thing they have in common is hanging out with Xander.

Actually, I'm not sure there is a point in either of the first two episodes in which Jesse or Willow refer to the other as a friend, is there? Or even hang out together except at school with Xander? They both get captured by vamps while at the Bronze on the same night, but they weren't there together. Willow tells Buffy in Welcome to the Hellmouth that she's in the Bronze because she "thought Xander was going to show up ... we're just friends", and in The Harvest Giles will tell Xander that, when he sees Jesse again, he won't be "looking at your friend". And vamp!Jesse will address Xander as "buddy". But Willow never calls Jesse a friend, that I can remember.

After Jesse is captured Willow talks about "wanting to help [Buffy]", but she doesn't show any real concern for Jesse himself. In fact, when Buffy goes to try to rescue him, and Xander is about to talk himself into chasing after her, Willow reassures him that "Buffy'll be okay". Not Jesse, but Buffy. And what's her immediate reaction to Buffy and Xander coming back and telling her that Jesse is something "worse than dead"? She says "at least you two are okay". And that's it, that's the whole of her reaction. Xander tells vamp!Jesse he's sorry and gets angry and talks about disliking vampires, but -- even in an episode were Jesse's death is acknowledged -- we never seen any emotional response to his death from Willow. She reacts far more to the death of Cordelia's boyfriend Kevin in Prophecy Girl, and Kevin is a character who (1) only exists for one episode and (2) Willow herself never interacts with.

So, yes, it rather beggars belief that Willow would be friends with Jesse and I don't think there's any on-screen evidence that they actually are friends in any real way. I don't think Willow would even hang out with Jesse between classes at school if he wasn't with Xander.

obviously the out-of-universe explanation for why jesse's name is never mentioned again after "the harvest" is that (a) while joss was tickled by the idea of immediately killing off a character he had set up to appear important, he had no desire to make a show with the dynamic of 'the hero and her two friends who are in mourning and traumatized over the death of their third friend who the hero failed to save', and also (b) the writers forgot he existed. but in-universe, given how many times it would have made sense and been in character for xander and/or willow to bring him up (such as in wacky stories from their childhood, or times when they are throwing buffy's failures in her face), i am forced to conclude that the reason jesse is never mentioned again is because neither of them actually liked him very much. he was just unpopular because he is unpleasant and so they let him hang out with them because they were unpopular too. but secretly they were kind of a bit relieved when he died because, well, he sucked and they didn't like him. and i'm sure they felt guilty about being relieved. but that didn't change the fact that they were. which is why neither of them ever mentions him again and never will

[hoofpeet]

Doing a full pivot in 2025 into dedicating this blog to Between the Lions fanart

[xxplastic-cubexx]

If you were to like redesign Magneto's classic outfit in a way that both suits the character and your own tastes, how would you redesign it?

uhhhh errrmmmmm i dont know i really couldnt improve upon perfection but i have still tried for you my friend !!!

[s0fter-sin]

rewatching s1 and in ep2 w*ndigo, dean makes a joke about not bringing provisions into the woods just to pull out a bag of peanut butter m&m’s and stick with me here, it’s why the later seasons’ “goofy dean” loses me

this moment is clearly a joke but if you think about it too much, it also makes some sense; a family size bag of peanut m&m’s is calorie dense and even the high sugar is good to keep you moving which they need on an overnight hunt. it also shows how due to their upbringing, they’ve had to eat lower quality food, things they always had access to that was cheap and also in bulk

what does dean eating ghost pepper jerky then tipping water on himself exist for other than to be a cringy joke? what does smelling old chinese food, testing to see if it's still good then shaking his head with cabbage hanging out his mouth when it isn't serve? it's just to make him look stupid and contrast sam's healthy/clean diet (and superiority but that’s another conversation) which has always existed but it used to be nuanced and natural

we see dean as a child give up the food he wanted to eat so sam could eat it. (“i’m sick of spaghetti-os,” “you’re the one who wanted them,” … “i want lucky charms!” “… there’s only enough for one bowl and i haven’t had any yet!” proceeds to give them to sam, 1x18) we know he hustled and stole food to ensure sam ate. (“so, what’d he take?” “get this- peanut butter and bread.” 9x07)

we also see throughout the early seasons dean teasing sam about his salad or healthy choice while he eats some form of burger or other fast food (or notably, cheerfully eating prison food that sam won’t touch, 2x19). it's typical sibling teasing but it also shows that it isn't new for sam to eat like that and for dean to know he eats like that

sam being picky isn't just a character trait they chose for him, it's a result of how dean raised him; he raised him to like and want healthy food and be food secure enough to reject food he didn't want

but dean eats anything he is given and seeks out unhealthy - cheap, plentiful, filling - food

he is the opposite of picky to the point of it being a consistent bit; they show him multiple times eating when it's socially frowned upon to do so eg. questioning a grieving victim when they're trying to be discreet (1x14, 2x15, 2x18)

a similar moment to the chinese food is in 4x19; dean wakes up in the car while sam brushes his teeth outside and is hungry. sam says there's a sandwich in the backseat, dean smells it and recoils bc it's an old tuna sandwich. the moment is funny on its own but it also exists as a comparison of their lives to adam's; he has a loving mother, goes to school and importantly, a steady stable childhood

it’s a joke with a purpose

it also supports dean's food insecurity; he wakes up and is immediately hungry, enough to complain about it and seek out food before anything else

dean is always hungry bc he never has access to nutritionally rich foods bc he got used to using the money he earned to buy sam's more expensive food. he got used to his cheaper, denser foods and grew up with (and continues to live with) intermittent access to said foods. think of how long it takes to drive from one state to another; how many hours it can take to see another town that offers food, if you arrive at a reasonable enough time for anything to be open. also think how they can’t keep any food beyond what fits in an esky; nothing that needs defrosting, nothing can be heated up. it’s bags and jars and take out for as long as they can trust it

then they get the bunker which has its own kitchen

dean even describes himself as "nesting" when he decorates his room, something he hasn't had since he was four years old, and he uses said kitchen to cook a burger from scratch that he is proud of. he is food secure for the first time in his life and it shows in how often he cooks for both himself and sam

so these moments where they have him acting goofy regarding food are no longer character driven and only exist as a joke which is why they come across as cringy and out of character compared to similar earlier moments

a lot of my issues with dean's characterisation started when they introduced the bunker. the argument can and is made that the reason these jokes happen is bc he feels safe in the bunker, that bc he now has a home he can relax and unmask but that still doesn't feel sufficient. they crank up these sillier moments for both of them, giving them a sort of playing house comedy vibe of two roommates with completely different personalities but it doesn't feel like an authentic progression. it feels forced; an attempt at humour for humour's sake

food stopped being an informed part of their characters and their trauma and instead became flanderised; sam is the judgy vegetarian health nut and dean is his borderline slovenly carnivore counterpart