#i hope i explained this in a way that makes sense

[diet-poison]

So I wanted to know what the AI was pulling from: https://blogs.worldbank.org/en/psd/why-you-shouldnt-fear-ghosts

"If ghosts are rational economic actors then ghosts would have no incentive to severely disturb the living population as it is likely that the costs to the ghost of killing an individual outweigh the benefits. When a ghost kills an individual then that individual could then conceivably turn into a ghost and, as a ghost, annoy its phantom killer for an even longer time period than if left alive."

"That is the abstract of Rational Ghost: Using Basic Economic Principles to Explain Ghost Behavior"

Unfortunately the link provided to the Rational Ghost is dead and the redirect didn't lead me to anything HOWEVER, I will not be stopped. I googled the title of the paper, which is available as a PDF. This is from the intro. It's 15 pages long and seems kinda dry, but I'm hoping it stays weird "Economists then use this set of behaviors to make predictions and form theories about the way people act. This paper attempts to take this process a step further by using these same economic principles to try and explain the behavior of ghosts."

"Economists take the given knowledge available at the time and add plausible assumptions to this information and follow these assumptions to a logical outcome. That being said, I do not know whether or not ghosts exist. I am not certain that they do and I am not certain that they do not. However, given a few plausible assumptions, which are supported with empirical research, I can assert that even if ghosts do exist then there is still no reason to fear them, at least not any more then you would fear any living entity. The next section of this paper provides a thorough discussion on cost benefit analysis, on which the arguments made in this paper are based."

"Section 3 provides research to show that ghosts appear to be rational actors in that they are more likely to do those activities which are of low cost and avoid those activities which are of high costs in accordance with the principles of basic cost-benefit analysis."

Okay the rest of the paper is kinda boring, he mostly equates ghosts to people in terms of cost/benefit analysis, assuming ghosts do what they do because they were once alive and have energy so they probably operate on the same reasoning humans do. He mostly relies on a single paper by "paranormal expert Susan Sheppard" published a year prior to this paper. "Susan Sheppard was a life-long paranormal investigator, researcher and psychic experiencer. Her West Virginia childhood was marked by a wide range of unusual experiences such as growing up near one of the first Mothman sightings, encounters with the Men in Black, sensing ghost and spirits as well as other manifestations of the mysterious and the unknown at an early age. Her grandmother was a psychic medium and her favorite aunt a practicing spiritualist who taught her the art of the seance and other spiritual traditions.

Susan was a well-known psychic medium, a self-taught astrologer, a talented artist-poet and masterful storyteller. Her areas of expertise included ghosts and hauntings, non-human spirits, fairies and fairy lore, astrology charts and forecasts, psychic dimensions, cryptozoology, Indrid Cold, Men in Black, Mothman, past lives and reincarnation, tarot and cartomancy, Appalachian folklore, remote viewing, divine magick, astral travel, Wicca & Witchcraft". She passed away in 2021. back to the paper: "While I do not know for sure what governs the process by which some spiritual energy remains and some does not, it would seem that if ghosts do indeed exist, and one were to kill a living person, then that living person could become a ghost. The research available supports the validity of this assumption in that it is often reported that most disturbed spiritual energy is the result of deaths that were premature, unjustified, or particularly dramatic (Sheppard, 2008). If someone was actually killed by a ghost, then it would seem that the victim would be a prime candidate for ghosthood."

Anyway I've never read such a dry ass approach to paranormal activity. His conclusion seems to be you don't need to fear ghosts because the most rational wouldn't bother killing you. But watch out

sorry for researching your joke

why would they haunt people if theres no profit incentive

[ozzgin]

What would happen if streamer reader expressed having a favorite regular? I'm fearful but curious

Oh, it would be chaos. Perhaps you didn't even mean to frame it that way; it merely slipped that you converse significantly more with one of the monsters in your following. You try to rectify your mistake, but it's too late. Your loyal groupies are particularly upset.

LizardKing5 would immediately burst into an angry rant, tearing down every other monster he can think of and giving you reasons as to why he's obviously much better. It's alright, you're just a silly human. Clearly you don't know better.

LizardKing5: Who is it, (Y/N)? Huh? I have all evening. What could you possibly talk about with these imbeciles that singles me out? LizardKing5: Give me a name LizardKing5: Was it that damn shark grandpa? I'll grill him SharkMan: Exceptionally rude of you!

SharkMan tries his best to be understanding, though if he is to be honest, he can't deny the faint pang of jealousy tugging at his chest. Why, of course you might have other monsters you prefer. It's just, well...He was hoping he'd earned a special place in your heart. He's always looked after you, so he was certain you'd trust him enough to make him your primary confidant.

SharkMan: Please don't feel bad about your sincere feelings, (Y/N) dear. It is only normal to feel closer to some than to others. SharkMan: ...I would love to take you out for a coffee, so you could explain to me what makes this individual so extraordinary and worthy of your favoritism.

DefNotAStalker is not shocked in the slightest. After all, he is right there with you and knows all of your conversations and secrets. Moreover, he's rather confident that no other monster has the same kind of intimacy with you. He'll just silently observe as you squirm in your seat, stuttering excuses and reassuring the enamored masses.

Y/NSimp is convinced you're talking about him. Of course, you're using code names so that no one can figure it out. It makes sense. He'll nod to himself, smug and proud. While the other monsters rage with jealousy, he'll lean back in his chair with a humble nod.

Y/NSimp: Guys, guys...clearly this guy must be one hell of a monster. You can't decide who (Y/N) prefers. Let it go. LizardKing5: Let me guess...you think this is about yourself. Y/NSimp: Oh no, I'd never~! It's okay to feel insecure, man. I'm here if you need a hug. LizardKing5: See, this is why you're not party of any groups. Y/NSimp: what groups Y/NSimp: hello?

HornyMantis has no idea what the hell is going on. He was entranced by the way your boobs jiggle slightly underneath your hoodie every time you raise your arm. Did you say something? Why is everyone furiously typing? He tries to scan the flood of messages, still in a daze. Something about a favorite...Ah!

HornyMantis: are we talking about our favorite (Y/N) parts? HornyMantis: boobs HornyMantis: or...? let me think about it HornyMantis: nah HornyMantis: it's boobs

[pitchsidestories]

What is this feeling ? (2) II Alexia Putellas x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1288

summary: Alexia broke up with you, but what happens when a small accident makes her question if it was the right decision to let you go that soon ?

author's note: thanks for the love for part one, we hope you'll enjoy part two just as much. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

⏪ Part 1

“Alexia!”, Mapi shouted at the top of her lungs.

Composed, the midfielder answered:” Calm down, Maria.”

“No!”, she exclaimed passionately.

In a matter of fact-tone, Alexia explained:” It’s the only reasonable decision.” Much quieter, the blonde added:” This wouldn’t have worked out anyway.”

The defender cursed under her breath: “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m not.”, her team captain countered.

Mapi objected strongly: “Yes, you’re.”

‘”t's less heartbreaking in the long run”, Alexia lied to herself. This lie would have convinced anyone, but not one of her best friends.

The younger woman raised an eyebrow sceptically: “What are you talking about? You’re not even trying with her.”

“We were trying it out for a week, and it was wonderful.”, the older player reminisced with a dreamy look in her hazel eyes.

Pictures of the short honeymoon phase you both had shared came to her mind. You two were quite the opposite pair, not just age wise. Nevertheless, it was exciting to be in each other's company, especially because of your different personalities.

With a sad smile Mapi concluded: “And then you got scared.”

“Sorry, I have to take that call.”, Alexia apologized.

The midfielder had a bad sense of foreboding when she saw that Jana was calling her, she suspected that something must have taken place. Alexia picked up the phone with a queasy feeling.

“What happened?... Wait, where the hell are you?”, the blonde asked her with a worried undertone.

Jana's nerves seemed on edge as she was searching for the right words: “Uhm..”

“Tell me quickly.”, Alexia urged the younger woman.

She dropped your name and the captain’s heart sank.

“Apologies, Maria, but I’ve to go.”, the blonde announced.

The defender frowned in confusion:” What?”

“It has to do with her.”, Alexia emphasized.

“Oh.”

The midfielder was already on her way out of the front door: “So, if you excuse me now, I really need to leave.”

“Go.”, Mapi nodded understandingly as her friend waved goodbye.

Only a few minutes later, Alexia waited anxiously for Jana to let her inside. “Ale.”, she greeted her with a pale face.

In true captain's and older sister’s manner, the blonde assured the defender: “Hi, don’t worry, I’m here.”

“Thanks.”, Jana looked soothed by her presence. With a welcoming smile on her lips, she added:” Come on in.”

A few of their teammates were standing nervously in the hallway.

“So, where is she?”, she questioned them.

Nervously, Ona ran her fingers through her hair:” On the sofa.”

“Will you tell me now, what exactly happened? Jana was very vague on the phone.”, Alexia demanded.

It was Ona who spoke again, while the others looked down to the ground in dismay: “It’s not too bad. We wanted to cheer her up with a pyjama party and she kind of fell off the bed when we jumped on it.”

Alexia didn’t answer. Pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

Cata nodded to support Ona: “Exactly. So actually you happened to her.”

“Me?”, Alexia echoed, offended by the insinuation. She quickly bit down her anger and changed the topic: “Did she pass out?”

Only then you realised that she had caught sight of you.

Through the throbbing headache, you blinked at her. You were almost certain that she wasn’t real and would disappear if you blinked hard enough.

“This bump on her head will hurt.”, you suddenly heard her say right next to you while soft fingertips brushed the hair from your forehead, right above the tender spot above your temple.

“She was only gone for a few seconds so it can’t be that bad, right? Right?”, Jana asked, her voice rising with panic.

“Ale? Go away.”, you complained, trying to bat her hand away but the quick movement made you immediately queasy again.

The midfielder deliberately ignored you and turned to Jana: “No, she’s pretty much conscious.”

Even through that excruciating head ache, you didn’t miss the mocking tone in her voice.

Anger took over. You forced yourself to sit up: “I said leave.”

“No.”, Alexia replied calmly.

You both stared at each other for a while.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

For the sake of your health, you fought the urge to roll your eyes at her.

“You can’t just leave and return whenever you please.”, you snapped at her, grimacing with pain.

The midfielder remained unimpressed: “I wouldn’t have returned if you were able to take care of yourself.”

“I had everything under control. This was just an accident.”, you assured her.

“Sure.”

“If you’re not leaving, I’ll leave.”

Tired of Alexias condescending replies, you tried to get up from the sofa and leave the living room but as soon as you stood upright, you started seeing black spots dance in front of your eyes. The dizziness forced you to grip the armrest of the sofa, just in case.

Alexia quickly grabbed the elbow of your other arm: “You can’t”

“It’s okay. I can walk from here to my flat.”, you said, pulling your arm away from her.

“You stay right where you are.”, Alexia warned and in the next moment, you were picked up by her and thrown over her shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Alexia, put me down. I swear-…”

“You swear what, huh?”

You tried to reach for the right words but what came out was closer to the truth than you liked: “You’re so confusing… Hot and cold. Almost impossible to grasp…”

“That’s the head injury.” she explained.

Too exhausted to fight her you gave in:” I just want to go home, so the girls can enjoy their sleepover.”

“I’ll bring you home.”, the midfielder explained in a tone of voice that would not tolerate any protest from your side.

You said your goodbyes to your friends who you hoped would still enjoy the evening even though it didn’t turn out as planned. Before you had even left the flat, Cata promised you that if you felt better, you would repeat the event.

The bond you had with your teammates was special, and you wouldn't give it up for the world, even if it meant seeing your ex-girlfriend, who broke up with you after a week, almost every day - they were worth the stay.

“Thanks, although I could have driven home on my own.”, you whispered as you rested your head on the cool car windscreen, which helped to ease the pain a little.

Whilst doing so, you could still see her giving you the side eye: ”Sure.”

A little later, you thanked her once more for driving you, but to your surprise, Alexia got out of the car too:” You think I’m already leaving?”

“You’re not?”

“You’ve a head injury, someone has to stay with you.”, the responded the older woman who was known for her stubbornness.

When she helped you to bed, you told her:” I’m good, Ale.”

“Shut up. I won’t leave.”, Alexia grumbled.

A sudden intuition struck you: “If I kiss you right now would you leave then?”

To your and her surprise, she said no.

You both placed everything into the kiss, the sweetness, the pain, everything melted together when your lips touched. It tasted of heartache and the possibility of healing it.

“And you’re still here.” you realised out of breath.

Alexia confirmed this in earnest: “I’m.”

“What does it mean?”, you asked her, searching her hazel eyes for the answer.

She pressed a featherlight kiss to your forehead:” That this is only the beginning not the end.”

If Alexia had to answer the question of, what that feeling was, her answer would be simple: it was love, regardless of what the outside world might think because of your age difference.

gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/okboomer17/752550115290513408/alexia-labor-omnia-vincit-2022?source=share

[wlwloverwrites]

a covenless pair

pairing: agatha harkness x witch!reader

warnings: afab reader, naive reader, dark themes, hints at somnophilia, dubious consent, forced orgasm, oral sex, smut 18+

for my lovely wife @caroldantops happy birthday

desperate to walk the witches’ road, you find yourself in the woods humming the ballad to yourself. your soft singing, unbeknownst to you, attracts a shadow.

that shadow is careful not to step on crunchy leaves to give away her position. you walk and walk until you feet ache.

the shadow behind you senses your tiredness so she runs past you, sets up camp, and lights a fire.

the light draws you in like a moth to a flame and soon you’re introducing yourself with a shy question, “can I sleep by your side tonight?”

the two of you fall asleep in each others arms, agatha-you learn her name- says it’s for warmth, but doesn’t tell you about the extra blanket she has hidden in the bushes.

cold and shivering you press yourself closer to her, you’re so cold you don’t say anything about the hand inching closer to your breast, or the legs tangled with yours.

with the dying fire, you share your story with her when she asks why you are so deep into the woods.

“i’m here walking the road,” you whisper, it’s so cold you can see the vapor in the air.

“the witches’ road,” agatha asks with false excitement.

“yes!” you almost shout, twisting in her hold so you can fully face her.

it’s hard to turn your body, but when you finally do, her legs are further tangled with yours, her knee pressed against your pussy.

“is this your first time walking the road?”

your brows raise at her question, “have you walked it more than once?”

the woman nods, her nose brushes against yours when she does.

“you and what coven?”

you’re nosy, agatha will say that, but she knows it’s because you, too, are coven-less. she knew it the second she saw you, it’s why she followed you.

despite you having no coven, she knew you’d have no problem finding one. greedy to keep you to herself, she came up with a way to stop your pathetic search for sisterhood.

“it’s possible to walk the road with no complete coven.”

“but the ballad says-”

the conversation flows through the night, whispers of the many tasks witches must complete together before even attempting to find the road. when you ask if it’s true agatha shushes you, her lips ghosting over yours, “go to sleep, you’ll have to work hard tomorrow. i’ll guide you.”

with that you close your eyes and let sleep take you, you only shift slightly when the knee between your legs grinds against you.

tired from your journey you fall into a deep sleep. agatha, however, knows her night has just begun.

when you wake up, you’re wet between your thighs, the skirt of your dress has folded over your knees, and your cheeks feel flushed. naively, you brush it off as a weird dream, you only hope you didn’t bother agatha.

rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you turn only to find yourself alone. so you throw the blanket to the side, suddenly too warm with the sun kissing your skin as you stand.

“agatha?”

“good morning, pet,” the voice smiles over your shoulder.

you turn back to face her. almost immediately you start to feel your blood rush through your veins.

the top part of her dress is undone, giving you a glimpse of her corset, her breasts almost falling out of the poorly done corset. shy, your eyes fall and that’s when you notice the skirt of her dress is tucked in somehow, showing off her legs and some of her thighs.

her exposed skin has you feeling warm as you whisper a good morning back.

“undress yourself.”

the command throws you off, but before you can ask why agatha waves for you to walk to her. the leaves beneath your bare feet crunch as you make your way to her. your conversation from last night comes back to you.

you remember agatha explaining the tasks one must do before reaching the road. she spoke without shame as she explained witches must lie together.

you remember squeezing your legs around hers when she spoke of erotic tasks, mouth on places you never thought of, fingers curling until their cramp, drinking what your coven offers.

“it’s all part of getting to the road,” she reassures, her hands reach to undo the buttons on the top of your dress and you let her.

“but no other witch has said that before, why must we?” you ask, lifting your skirt as it was earlier that morning.

“have you seen those witches since?”

it’s quiet as you think. no, you haven’t seen those witches since. in fact, there was word amongst the village those witches met their end.

“trust me.”

you nod, your eyes lock with hers as her hands fall to your skirt, then under the layers of material. her stare is hungry as her thumbs hook on your underwear. she’s handsy when you pulls them down your legs, letting fingers brush against your thighs longer than needed.

agatha kneels before you as she taps each leg, silently telling you to step out of your soaked underwear. your glance at the soaked through material has you stuttering.

“i must have had a dream- i’m not- that’s never happened in my sleep.”

“it’s okay pet, it’ll help us,” she states as if it’s obvious- maybe to her it is, since she’s walked the road before, since she’s does this with her past covens.

agatha then dips her head beneath your skirt, similar to the night before, her nose brushes against your skin. only this time she inhales deeply, breathing you in.

“are you su-“

“yes.”

“but,” you lift your skirt further, flattening the bunch of material to look at her, “i thought we have to kiss first?”

agatha’s eyes are dark, somehow she looked hungrier than before. your question almost has her standing and pressing a kiss onto your pouty lips.

“that’s a misconception,” she dismisses you by pressing soft kisses on her your thighs.

“oh,” you sigh disappointed, “okay.”

there’s a dark chuckle, agatha fights the urge to mumble an insult, but the act of you widening your stance has her swallowing it down.

with easier access, agatha presses a kiss onto your clit. the taste of you is familiar, reminding her of the night before. somehow you taste better today. greedy for more, she licks you with a flat tongue, dipping as far as she can, licking up everything she might have missed when you finally closed your legs, shutting her out with a sleepy whine.

twigs dig into the soft skin on agatha’s knees but she doesn’t care, pushing you against a tree as she crawls to you. with the tree supporting you, agatha pushes your legs further apart.

“agatha!”

her wet tongue is back on you, straining to lick up everything you have to offer. soft moans fall past your lips as agatha licks your clit repeatedly. with each lick you feel a weird sensation build in your lower stomach.

“wait- feels weird,” you pant, your hand falling to her head. you’re not entire sure if you’re the one pushing her head cover or if she is shoving her head further between your thighs.

“sing for me,” words are muffled, rather than making out her words, you whine at the vibrations.

your chest rises and falls with each as the sensation continues to build, this time its more uncomfortable. the tree behind you, forces you to stand still.

“sing the ballad!” suddenly, agatha pulls your legs over her shoulders. with the tree supporting most of your weight, agatha has the freedom to dip her tongue lower, fucking you with it.

with a shriek, you listen, “down, down, down the road, down the the witches’ road.”

scared of falling you try your best to hold yourself up by gripping the bark of the tree, you only cry out again when agatha moans against your clit. her hands fall to your ass, squeezing harshly.

ignoring your whines, she pushes your hips to meet her tongue, forcibly making you rock against her busy mouth.

your whines turn into cries, tears falling down your cheeks, you pull away, fearful of the approaching feeling.

“blood and tears and bone, maiden mother crone.”

your clit throbs, sensitive due to the repeated licks. you can feel yourself drip onto her tongue as the sensation begins to cloud your mind making your voice die.

“louder!”

she loudly slurps up your sweet taste. the sound makes you cringe as you sing with a whine. as if she listened to her own command, she does it louder, groaning into your pussy.

your voice shakes as you sing every lyric. at the end of the ballad, agatha joins you, replacing her tongue with her thumb, petting your sensitive clit.

“down the witches’ road.”

“that’s it, pet.”

“follow me my friend,” you’re close.

the dam breaks, your body tenses, the tree digs into your skin, your thighs shake around agatha, you flinch away from her restless mouth.

“to glory at the end!”

breathless you tilt your head back against the tree, your legs are still over her shoulders so you move to lower them; however, agatha is quick to stop you.

“can we not search for the road now?”

she looks up at you. her chin is wet, shining with your come, when she smiles at you.

“one for each coven member,” she chuckles darkly, “you’re lucky we’re a pair.”

reblog and/or comment !!

[doiliedaze]

Intertwined, Sewn Together

Butch mechanic! Vi x Bimbo flower shop owner! reader

Warnings: Vi courting reader very obviously, flirt Vi, tooth-rooting fluff, reader is a perv a little (implied she has masturbated to the thought of Vi before), reader is such a botanical nerd and rambly mess, reader lacks common sense just a little bit, reader is whipped for Vi bad (I feel you girl), sweet to heavy make out session but nothing too major, butch bulge 😵‍💫

Genre: fluff

A/N: a lot of Adrianne Lenker songs remind me of Vi but especially not a lot, just forever! The songs that inspired this fic are crush, not a lot just forever, heavy and Constant Craving!! I typically think of bimbos to have confidence but I want this bimbo to have a more shy nature or like a quiet confident like flowers because they are so dainty but they hold so much energy and meaning! I also know nothing about mechanical stuff so bare with me…I gotta stop not knowing things in my Vi fics😅

Language of flowers guide: carnations= fascination, distinction and love | peonies= love, romance and purity | baby’s breath= everlasting love, purity, innocence | iris’s= affection and devotion | violets= everlasting love, lesbian courting, faithfulness and modesty | lavender= love and devotion gardenias= protection, hope, love and trust

These are the meanings with romantic connotations it can differ based on the connotations. Can also differ based on color!!

───────┈ · ·

“Stupid fucking car! Stupid fucking auto shops!” You mutter to yourself as you walk into the auto repair shop. Your pink bug has been in the shop for two weeks now, something about an engine? You aren’t sure but you felt like it should be done by now! You also spaced everytime you talked to your mechanic because she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen!

“Excuse me?” You say with a wobble in your voice as you tap the mechanics shoulder. She is as handsome as ever and her gaze is electric!

Her floppy pink hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Vi her name tag read but it never seems to leave your lips…well at least in public.

“Hey sweet thing, more questions ‘bout the car?” She says smoothly as she rubs some oil on her overalls.

The lump in your throat thickens when she calls you that. Gosh she makes you squirm internally well you hope she doesn’t notice too much.

“Hi…uh yes please!” You follow her mindlessly and as soon as she updates you, you focus on the scar on her top lip or the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks or the way she cocks her eyebrow when she’s explaining car stuff to you or-

“Lost?” Her mellows out from excited to enchanting. “No! I didn’t mean to stare I was tryna listen.” This technically isn’t a complete lie!

With a nod you can tell she was trying to think of a way to explain it to you instead of getting mad at you. That’s a constant in your life, if you’re confused you’re use to being yelled at.

When she breaks it down for you, it all comes together! Before you could say but she says, “y’know it’s nice when you stop by.” Her hands nonchalantly slide into her pockets. “Oh I don’t do much when I’m here?”

“You don’t need to do much sweet thing.” She took a curt step forward. “A woman like you is enchanting to breathe next to.” Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. Not a husk of lust no, a husk of admiration.

Flustered you look away not exactly knowing how to respond. So you choose to flee like fleeting honeybee you can be. “Wow look at the time! I have to be on my way-”

“Wait! I mean…may I have your number before you go?” This time she didn’t step any closer giving you some room to breathe not wanting to come off any stronger than she already is. You can tell she had to mentally work up to it, the tips of her ears were red.

Excited but trying to keep calm you give her your number…well your work number. You accidentally made your business number your personal number and never went back after you print out 500 business cards, which was also too many business cards!

Since that day you haven’t talked to Vi…traditionally at least. She’s been ordering bouquets from your shop and shipping it to meet you in the morning. The meanings behind each beautiful and unique!

This bouquet had carnations, peonies and baby’s breath! Which confused you when you first saw them, typically she’s put some violet or lavender in there…

Maybe it was a signal to call her, or her affections has changed?

You were going to call truly but your nerves got the best of you! So when your car was ready you were going to surprise her!

Vi is under the impression you weren’t interested in her advanced until she could hear the click of your heels as you try to walk as quietly as possible. It’s hard for someone as radiant as you to go unnoticed.

“Hey sweet thing, ready for your car?” She says softly mustering her small smile.

Before she could go on you hand her a bouquet that was behind your back. It was filled with violets, iris’s, lavender, gardenias and peonies with some sticks to add a rustic flare to it.

“I know I haven’t called nor given any action to your affections but I don’t want you to think they go unnoticed! Especially after you started to stop sending violets and lavenders I knew I had to do something. I would be naive to act as though I’m not attracted to you but-”

Vi cuts you off by waving her hand in the air, “thank you, y/n I appreciate it and you don’t have to explain yourself. I’m a woman of action and you babe are showing out.” She smiles as she takes the boquete. “Y’know I’ve never been given flowers? I…thank you.” She holds them closer to her chest.

Ever since then y’all have been spending your free time together. The workers at your shop love when Vi comes by. She’s always being snacks and good conversation! At first the guys at the shop were slightly annoyed by your presence but when you brought baked goods along with flowers for Vi, you were welcomed.

Vi pulled up to your shop after hours knowing you were closing. “Sweet thing you ready?” She smirks as she revs her motorcycle. Although she looks so hot on it you hate being on it with her but she always takes you home.

“Course pretty” you say with a smile and sway in your hips as you get on the back.

You two have a spot. It’s a cozy cliff on this mountain. It’s a bit of a drive but y’all don’t mind. The two of you set up blankets and food as you lay back and gaze at the stars…well you were. Vi was too busy staring your face off. Realizing she hasn’t been replying to your rambling you turn to her and stare back going to caress her cheek.

She’s at home with you. You validate her butchness as she to your femmeness. No one has ever been all that interested in her work, especially to the extent of helping her fix her dream car. You’re there for her and she’s here for you.

Vi has always been described as a courageous woman but when it comes to you? She’s a fucking wimp! The two of you have been taking it slow due to the courting process but she knew tonight was the night. The night she’d ask you to be yours…to try not to say that she loves you because she does. She can feel it in her gut.

“You okay Violet?” She melts when you say her name, the only person she wants to hear say it. She rolls on top of you, somewhat putting her weight on you, more her chest.

“Can you feel that? That’s how my heart beats everytime I’m around you. Which is concerning because I’m around you a lot!” She snorts causing you to laugh a little. You nuzzle your face into hers and you let her fingers entangle into yours.

“Be mine. I can’t live another second without you as mine, my counterpart, my femme, just mine.” She breathed as if she was letting a weight off her shoulders she didn’t know she had.

If she’d was quicker to open her eyes she’d see how excited you are. Impatient as you are you kiss her. The kiss starts off slow, just your lips pressed together awkwardly as you try to stop smiling.

Vi grips your hands tighter as she presses closer, biting your lip. She doesn’t want to mean to make the kiss sloppy but she can’t help but explore you.

Her tongue presses and wraps itself around yours. You mumble her name and her breathe hicks. Her bulge presses against your thigh softly rutting as she kisses you.

You wrap a leg around her causing your skirt to fall some and she moves a hand to grip your thigh. Even though this kiss is moving fast there’s restraint from both end.

You break away to breathe a string of saliva following. “Should we go?” You whisper and she nuzzles into your neck groaning a yes.

The two of you are new to peace, especially a peace you two could provide each other. However you’re willing to get tangled into each other.

───────┈ · ·

A/N: i got nervous writing it teehee!! I hope you enjoyed @milanyas <3 I’m definitely going to expand on this idea because I lowkey feel like it could’ve been longer but I didn’t know how and I didn’t really want smut? I’ll probably make an imagine for you dolls!

Taglist- @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss

Dividers- @8bbitbunni

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Hello💜 I know I basically just put in a request BUT I had this in mind for long and I just saw that you're doing AU's, soooo...

It takes place in Sonic Prime, it's just a bit different. First difference is that there are multiple universes (I'm counting the whole world from Sonic Prime as only one of them) snd every one of them has a crystal and it's handler. The crystals of different universes can do different things, but basically, the more complexed the world, the more powerful the crystal. It's handler has to protect it and can also make use of more of it's power then others who want to try it (like Nine or C.C.).

The handler of the Prime universe was Shadow and the handler of the "Earth" universe is the reader. They kind of met when one of them was exploring the others universe and became friends.

Because Shadow managed to lose the crystal (I don't remember it's name) and the Chaos Emerald, he wasn't really able to contact the reader in anyway.

The fight also went a bit different - Nine was too late to realised that what he was doing was wrong, just as the last of their universe was about to shatter, so Shadow used that crystal and managed to transport everyone to reader's house, sadly losing his and his friends universe at the end.

So the main story starts when reader was basically chilling in their house (it's far from others and quite big, so there won't be any issue with that), when suddenly everyone from that battlefield teleported there. Shadow introduces them and asks for reader's help in giving them a new home

Hope you understood it, I can't wait to see you make it😁 Love ya🥰

“No Way Back…”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Human Reader

AU: “Keepers of the Crystals”

Requested: Yes (by @grapegirlpoland ).

Description: Well. You definitely didn’t expect to become the keeper of a bunch of Mobians. But life is just the strangest thing ever, isn’t it?

Notes: My first AU request!!! I really hope I do this one well! Hope you enjoy! ^^

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Something was wrong.

You could just feel it.

Your danger sense was just telling you that something was about to happen.

So you set your book down and rushed outside from your house (which was in the middle of nowhere, and for good reason).

Before you can do so much as blink, a bunch of mobians are in front of your house, along with five strange-looking humans.

In the middle of them all is one you recognize, that being a very exhausted Shadow, who was the guardian of the Paradox Prism.

You only knew him because you had visited his world before a few times, but you had visited less and less due to you having to guard the Earth’s special crystal, known as the Earthly Emerald.

“Shadow! What the heck happened?!” you ask, rushing over to him.

He lets out a few sharp exhales, out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters out after he catches his breath. “I couldn’t protect the Prism. It…It’s been destroyed.”

“That explains all of the mobians on my doorstep…” you mutter.

“I’m sorry. I thought your place was the safest bet for where we could stay,” Shadow says.

You let out a sigh.

“You all can stay. But I’m in charge,” you say. “No fighting, no leaving the house, and no murder. And don’t touch the Earthly Emerald. I will know if you’ve gone near it.”

“Thank you, [Name],” Shadow says.

“I’m not sharing a room with any of you,” one of the two-tailed foxes states.

“That’s fine, I’ll just set up room preparations…” you mutter. “You, Shadow, are lucky I have a big house in the middle of nowhere, and that I like you.”

“Ooooh, Shads is in lo-ove!~” Sonic teases.

Shadow lets out a yell and jumps onto Sonic, who screams, a cloud of smoke appearing around the two as they fight, causing you to facepalm.

You go to the side of your house and turn on your hose, spraying the two hedgehogs, getting them to stop fighting.

This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

But you would manage.

[marauder-misprint]

Friends

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.4k words

cw: fluff

When Regulus enters the common room, you emerge from your dorm, books and other study materials in hand. Now that you had your nap, you were ready to get all the homework you had been putting off done. Regulus debates telling you about Sirius now. But as he watches you spread out across a table with a determined look on your face, he decides against it. Instead, he stands at your side and leans over the table to see which subjects you’re working on.

“Divination?” he asks.

You nod. “Professor Traumine is checking our dream journals this week and I haven’t had any I actually remember… Care to help?”

“Help?” he asks hesitantly, not really sure what you’re asking of him.

“Making stuff up. What seems like something I’d dream about and then we figure out what it means using the book.” You give him a pleading look. “Please, I’m horrible at making the dreams up. I’ll figure out what they mean on my own.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Regulus pulls up a chair and reaches for the journal you have open.

“Just seeing what you’ve written before. Maybe you can have a repeat dream or something,” he explains.

Between the two of you and the occasional passing friend, you finish the dream portion of the homework fairly quickly. You laugh as you interpret the fake dreams.

“Apparently, there are several family deaths in my future. That’s what, an excuse to miss school or something?”

“Anything about relationships?” Regulus asks, testing the water. 

You give him a sideways glance. “Relationships?”

“Particularly with my brother?” 

“Regulus, I don’t want to talk about him,” you groan. 

He leans forward. “I think you should.”

“Why? What do you need to know?”

“The same question as always. What’s going on between you two?” Instead of sounding accusatory as he had in the past, Regulus sounds arrogant, like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

You shrug. “Some kind of friendship, I guess?”

Regulus doesn’t mean to, but he laughs. Loudly and uncontrollably. You stare at him with wide eyes. You can feel the eyes of other Slytherins on the two of you. You had gone from peacefully working on homework and chatting with those who stopped by your table. Now, he was making a scene.

“What the fuck, Reggie?” you hiss.

“Some kind of friendship?” he repeats back to you in between laughs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No?” 

“Love, darling, dearest friend of mine,” Regulus starts to say, ever so slightly calming himself. “Sirius came looking for you. Pacing the dungeons, hoping to run into you. Friends?”

“Right. Friends,” you say naturally, as if you were simply confirming that there was a giant octopus in the Black Lake.

Your mind, however, starts to spin. Sirius was looking for you? After you called him attractive again, with many synonyms, to his face, in the purest tone of genuinity, without any sense of tease. After telling him he was a good time. After saying that you maybe should write to him… You curse yourself for having said so much.

“Friends,” you echo yourself despite Regulus not saying anything.

He cocks an eyebrow. “So you said.” Then he smiles wickedly. “Or are you trying to convince yourself that’s all it is?”

“Regulus,” you warn, your voice dropping low. 

“I wasn’t so sure about it before, but I think I’ve played matchmaker,” he says with a smile.

“If anyone has the right to claim matchmaker, it’s Dorcas. Or… or Lupin and Potter. Certainly not you!”

“Aha! So there is a match!”

Your face grows hot. That wasn’t how you meant for it to come out. There wasn’t a match. It was just you realizing that Sirius wasn’t too bad and you liked being around him and he was fun and attractive and he smelled nice and there was something about the way he always had cigarettes with him that he was willing to share and the way he carried himself and… Shit. 

You gather your things in a panic.

“I will, uh, erm, see you tomorrow? I… I gotta go…”

You return to your dorm and hide within the curtains of your bed. Regulus was right: someone had played matchmaker.

---

You avoid Regulus in the morning. If anyone mentions either Black or Gryffindor, you change the topic or leave the conversation. You’re more skittish than usual. You’re more flighty than usual. You can’t seem to focus on anything besides your current crisis. 

Yes, you’re calling it a crisis. 

You manage to survive the day and you’re feeling a little better. You think you’ll be able to hide in your dorm again until you completely sort out your thoughts. 

But then his voice rings down the hallway. Sirius calls out your name. 

“Hey!” he says, running up to you.

“Hi?” you reply cautiously. You didn’t know if you were ready for a conversation with him.

“I-uh, how have you been?”

“I’ve been good. Yeah… good. You?”

The air between you feels thick with things unspoken. You certainly aren’t going to acknowledge it though. You’d rather this be a quick conversation so you can keep your wits about you.

“Going a bit crazy, if I’m honest,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows and tilt your head. “Is that so? What for?”

You start to walk and Sirius immediately falls in step with you. You aren’t sure where you are going, but it feels more natural to be moving than loitering outside a classroom. Depending on where you went, it would also be easier to shake Sirius if you felt like you were actually going to lose your cool. 

“Been meaning to, wanting to talk to you.”

“Well,” you chuckle, “here I am.”

“Right. Here you are. And here I am,” he says, laughing at himself. 

You wait for him to continue.

“I… I… I’m just going to come out and say it. Yes. That’s what I’m going to do.” He swallows thickly. “I like spending time with you. A lot. And I’d like to go on another date with you. To Hogsmeade, to a quidditch game, to the kitchens, hell, I don’t care. I didn’t think I’d need to talk to Regulus again and I really want to, if you want to.”

You stop walking. You clutch your things tightly to your chest. Sirius took a few steps beyond you before realizing that you weren’t next to him anymore. He turns back to you with worry etched into his face. 

“You don’t want to, do you?” he mumbles, looking down at the ground. “I thought after what you said last weekend…”

You take a shaky breath. “No… Shit, no. I do. I mean, I’m not against it.”

SIrius looks up, his eyes sparkling with emotion. He moves closer to you as his worry slowly melts away. 

“You do?”

You nod, not trusting your words. He gently puts a hand on the side of your shoulder.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to faint?”

You take another breath. “Because… I meant what I said. After the party… And I was so hellbent on not caring for you, but, ah, here we are?” You let out a nervous chuckle and tighten your grip on your books.

“Here we are,” he repeats, his lips curling into a smile. 

“But you want to take me to a quidditch game, you’ll be waiting until next term…”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not waiting that long. So, sneak to Hogsmeade? Picnic? Visit the kitchens? I’ll do whatever you want to. I just… I want to spend time with you.”

You press your lips into a thin line as you think. 

“How about a walk? Just like around the grounds or something. And we can stop by the kitchens after?”

He nods vigorously. His excitement is so palpable that you can’t help but smile at him.

“I’d love that.”

“Too bad Padfoot isn’t here to enjoy it though,” you tease. 

“D’you miss him?” Sirius asks with a smirk.

“I miss dogs in general. You do have a cute one though,” you say thoughtfully. 

Sirius chuckles and throws an arm around your shoulder. “I mean, if all goes well, maybe you can visit the Potters and hang out with Padfoot over break.”

“That’s… that’s some kind of wishful thinking, Black. Dunno if we’ll be there after a second date.” 

“Worth a shot,” he says. “As long as you write me.”

“With that quill you bought me? Let’s see how this walk goes first.”

“This walk? Are we doing it now?” He sounds flustered. 

“No. Salazar, no. I have assignments to do.” You pause and bite the inside of your lip. “Tomorrow after class?” 

“Tomorrow.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine, @ravisinghs-wife, @azure-drag0ness, @sunowee, @mysteriouslyperfecttiger

Just a warning for all of you lovely people: I think we are nearing the end of this series. I'm feeling like a max of two more chapters. Thank you for all the love y'all have shown this series - every comment/like/reblog means the world to me

[woosjoongie]

black mamba | k.hj

pairing: serpent!hongjoong x f!reader

note: hi! this is my first story!! it's kind of bad, i apologize but i hope you like it. notes/reblogs are appreciated!

a light breeze traveled through your window as it was left ajar; although, you haven't tempered with it in god knows how long. the small change in the temperature immediately brought you out of your sleep.

staring at the window with squinted eyes and knitted eyebrows, you got up, dragging your stagnant body. as you reached your window, the bright moon light and the light breeze opened your senses.

you took a deep breath but before you release a proper exhale, a small thump rung in your ears. you whipped around quickly, the breeze and fear making your body accommodate with goosebumps. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, making the indication that something bad was nearing.

you looked around the room, holding your breath. it was dark except for the moonlight that shined onto one section of the room. once again, squinting, you slowly walked forward. you gasped as the floorboard underneath you let out a screech. you held your chest, bending over a bit to catch your breath.

as you looked up, you notice a black boot reflecting off the moons light. your heart dropped, as your eyes traveled up the boot and to what, or who, it was attached to. your mouth hung open as you saw a man with burgundy hair staring back at you. his bottomless black eyes, staring back into yours.

"should I run or should I stay?" you thought to yourself. maybe if you stood still, he'd miraculously disappear. or maybe, if you ran, you could get far enough away from him, and get help. you slowly started to back away, back facing the door.

as you slowly walked back, the man stood up. you halted, only for him to do the same. moving back again only made him get closer. his heavy footsteps were much louder than the soft padding of your own.

you stopped before the door, scared that if you turned around, he'd get much closer. or worse.. maybe he'd actually grab you. but maybe if you were quick enough you could open the door quick enough to get away.

feeling overly confident, you turned around and opened the door. it immediately slammed closed. looking upward, you saw a black hand pressing against the door. this hand faded into his ivory skin at the wrist. you felt your hair slightly moving as whoever was behind you breathed.

you couldn't control your body nor its curiosity; you slowly turned around to look at them. you saw the same red hair and the same black eyes. "you can't run from me." it, or maybe his– you had no idea what this thing was; you weren't even sure if he was human– voice was seductive almost. it was sort of high pitched but not enough to sound silly or like he was a joke.

"i-i" was all the managed to spill out of your mouth before you his opposite hand came down to touch your cheek. his calloused knuckles and cold rings caressed your face lightly, making you recoil. he hated your response to his touch. he hated how you turned away from him.

"i've been studying you." he confesses. looking at him once again ask, "what's your name?" your vocal cords shook, fear and even anger flowing throughout your body. "I've almost every aspect of your life. the people that come and go.. what you watch, what you eat, how you touch yourself.. I know when you go to work. and i know you're so stressed. and tired. your body aches in so many different ways." he explains to you.

as much as it freaked you out, it also intrigued you. how could you go this long without knowing this thing was watching you. but stop. you need to know who he is. why he's doing this. "who are you?" your tone was firm and demanding, but he saw through that stupid act and knew he could break you; nevertheless; he found it cute. he felt proud his stalking paid off over the years. but he figured you wanted to feel powerful for once and gave in. "hongjoong," he finally answered. his black thumb slowly swiped over your bottom lips with a small smirk. his thumb dipped into your mouth, pushing between your teeth and pressing on your tongue forcing you pull back.

"hmm, you seemed to like that when that other guy was here, no?" he, unfortunately, right. but that other guy was just a fling. he meant nothing. which, now that you realize, shouldn't matter. you know nothing about this human (?) other than his name. "let me fuck you better. he was lazy, couldn't keep up with you."

he was right but what makes him think he can just break in and get to fuck you? he's out of his mind. "you're insane," you mumble. "insane for trying to help? you're funny. always have been." his hand drags done your face and to your neck and down your shoulder. his fingers hooked on the thin strap of your top. he slid it down with ease, making sure to make eye contact with you.

"maybe you're the crazy one.. letting me take this off of you.. not making me stop." he let out a small chuckle. your teeth bit back at your damp lip. looking down, both strap were down to your forearms, your breasts fully exposed. your nipples hardened at the cold air. his thumb slightly ran over your nipple, a pool of your wetness starting to soak through your panties; which, luckily for hongjoong, was the only form of outerwear on your lower body.

his tongued darted out, licking his lips. a light gasp escaped your lips. you were in shock and your fear grew a little more. his tongue was split down the middle.. just like a snake. "can i touch you here?" his hand traveled up your thigh. still, you didn't say no. and you still have no idea why not.

he grinned at your response, his pointy smile sucking you in. his hand ghosted up your thigh and to your clothed pussy. he hissed, the 's' catching your attention. it was more dragged out and more harsh. "holy shit," you gasped as his hand rubbed your pussy.

"feel better?" he's had one sided hatred with that guy ever since he saw his face. hongjoong's rough hand slipped into your underwear, middle and ring teasing your leaking hole. the ring on his thumb bumping into your clit. you grabbed onto his other arm, nails digging into his skin. throwing your head back, you let out a small whine. you didn't feel his fingers anymore. it slowly started to travel up your hole, making you squeal. it was smooth but ridged at the same time. you looked down and saw his arm white forearm slowly turn black and scales envelope the circumference of his arm. as much as you wanted to pull away, you couldn't. you felt so close just from this.

you felt whatever was inside of you, hit your g-spot. "oh my gosh," you grabbed his shoulders to stabilize yourself. your hips started to grind against him, and like he said before, the other guy couldn't keep up. but he could. he kept up with your pace, "good girl. you'll be ok." he said, his face burying itself in your neck, sucking lightly onto your skin. his teeth scraped against your neck and collarbone. you felt so close, your legs involuntarily closing.

a suddenly pinch at your neck made you slightly jump, his wrist bumping your clit making you cum on the spot. your eyes rolled back and you swear you saw your skull. you were out of breath and most of all.. you are dizzy. and you couldn't tell why. sharp pains flowed through your neck and shoulder. "hongjoong?" you called out, only to look up and see he was gone. your knees were weakened and you could barely stand. you don't know what happened and suddenly you were out cold.

[annymation]

Sonic Movie 4 Theory 💙

Hey guys! Since Sonic Movie 3 has been consuming my brain, specially that post credits scene, I’ve decided to write down my predictions to what will happen in the next movie.

I’ll probably be wrong, but that’s ok, theories are not meant to be 100% accurate, they’re just fun to make, and I’ve came up with some ideas that I really wanna share, feel free to share your own theories in the comments or add whatever you think might make my theory even better.

Alright, let’s begin

What can we learn from Amy’s first appearance?

So from the little time we get from her we can catch a few things:

1. She already has plenty of fighting experience against these Metal Sonics

2. Her hammer is futuristic looking

3. She has a hooded cape, like, she’s not meant to be seen by anyone else

4. This last one is important: Her smile implies she already knows Sonic

With all of that in mind, I believe this Amy is from the future, but as I’ll explain, she’s not from far away in the future, rather… She’s from the time Sonic Movie 4 ends.

That’ll make sense in a sec, probably, I hope so, we'll see.

To make this theory make sense, first, imma talk about where I got my inspiration for it… Soooo

Have you guys watched Howl’s Moving Castle?

The Howl’s Moving Castle paradox theory✨

That’s how I’m calling my theory by the way, since it was what inspired the whole idea of it.

So, to explain my theory, I’ll have to give yall a mild spoiler of this Studio Ghibli movie, in case you haven’t watched it, it’s surprisingly not a big deal in the narrative but in any case, you’ve been warned.

Still here? Good, so here's the spoiler

At the end of Howl’s Moving Castle, we get a scene Sophie goes back in time, she sees past Howl, and screams to him, asking him to come find her in the future, as she’s being sucked in back to present day

This scene gives new meaning to the scene at the start of the movie when Howl “first met” Sophie, and he said:

Soooo why am I bringing this up? Well, I believe Amy is having the same role Sophie had in that movie, and of course, Sonic is getting Howl’s role, but, while in Howl’s Moving Castle we followed Sophie’s point of view, in Sonic 4, it's like we're following Howl's POV, or in this case, Sonic's.

You might already have an idea where I’m going with this.

Where Is Present Amy?

As I've mentioned, I believe that Amy we saw at the post credits scene is from the future, well, that begs the question, where is the Amy from the NOW?

That's up to Sonic to find out.

Just like how Sophie was forcefully brought back to her time after meeting past Howl, I believe this Amy will disappear too, because she can’t stay in that point in time for too long, but before disappearing, she’ll ask Sonic to look for her in their home planet, which we'll be referring to as Mobius.

However, before she can tell him specifically where he can find her, her time will run out. Future Amy will be gone, leaving behind a very confused blue hedgehog, and one sack of rings.

Before she left, all she had time to tell Sonic was “find me on planet mobius, on the island-“ and then she was gone in a poof of green sparkles reminiscent of the green stars we see when time traveling in Sonic CD.

With that as their only clue, Sonic, Tails and Knuckles will have a very hard time finding her, considering that the whole planet is full of islands.

South Island, Christmas Island, Cocoa Island, Starfall Islands, West Side Island and MANY many more.

But despite the odds not being in their favor, they go anyway, with backpacks full of snacks for the trip of course, and the rings Future Amy left behind.

We’d get, let’s say, a 3 minutes montage accompanied with music of the boys going through various Game locations, from both old and new Sonic games, and probably some much needed lore exposition from Knuckles and Tails, with Sonic being amazed by the planet he never got to know more about.

That’d satisfy fans that want to see more game lore stuff while also not costing the animators that much to design all the anthropomorphic animal characters in the background and so on.

Of course, it’s not easy finding a pink hedgehog among millions of other animal people in a whole planet, but Sonic doesn’t care, he gotta know who she was, and how she can help them deal with those knock-off robot versions of him, they may strike again at any moment... Also she was really pretty but that surely is unrelated to why he wants to find her so much *cough cough*

So, to make matters worse, the wind blows away a sketch Sonic had made of Amy to help them identify her, it falls on a lake, but, much to the boys luck, it’s pulled out of the water by a fishing hook… And they encounter a certain big friendly purple cat.

Yeah, I know this is getting into fanfic territory, but hey, with the little info I have currently I kinda have to make stuff up, plus, the writers have shown interest in inserting Big the Cat in these movies for a WHILE now, but never got a good excuse to do it. This is my take on how they could implement him into the narrative in a natural way, that wouldn't just make the 3D modelers make a whole BIG character to be a blink and you'll miss it reference in the background.

Back to the plot, Big gives them the sketch back, but with it being all wet, they don’t have much hope left that they’ll ever find the girl they’re looking for. Big laments that their drawing got ruined, and as they’re leaving he casually adds “It was a really good drawing of Amy, I’m sure she’d like it”

Their ears perk up as they quickly turn to the cat, and Big confirms he does know her, they’re neighbors, and she was currently on an adventure of her own, apparently looking for some kind of “destined encounter” as she had put it. Big gives them the location where they can find her.

Which would be riiiiiiiight here

I believe this location is called Never Lake, but Idk if it's canon or just an Archie Comics thing, either way, I'm calling it Never Lake.

Anyway this segment is already getting pretty long so I’ll make this brief, Sonic finds Amy, on his own, Knuckles and Tails went to different sides of the island to look for her, it’s important their first meeting is just the two of them.

I have three ideas to how this first meeting could go:

When he finds her, she could either be on her own, distracted as she checks her tarot cards and Sonic awkwardly interrupts it, startling her, making the cards flow away in the wind, to which Sonic catches them quickly, which both impresses Amy and proves to her the cards were right, she got her destined encounter.

2. Alternatively, she could not be alone, she was being attacked by a group of hooligans *cough cough* Fang, Bean and Bark *cough cough* and Sonic proceeds to save her while being a lil a snarky trickster and making her laugh during the whole rescue.

Either one of these first encounter ideas works for me because both set up Amy being certain Sonic is the one her cards told her about, however, even though seeing more mobian characters and get a cute scene of Sonic fighting bad guys is cool, I do prefer option number one, for reasons that will become more clear in a sec.

. . .

Ok the sec is over, the reason is because I think another Metal Sonic would show up and try to kidnap Amy and having her being rescued twice is redundant, his motivation? Some version of her from a different point in time just wrecked a whole army of them of course, so he's trying to get her before she can become that future self (time travel sure is messy to write but work with me here)

Sonic, now accompanied with Tails and Knuckles defeat him, preferably also with Amy's help so we can get some main 4 action we've been waiting for, and now, they got a deactivated Metal Sonic laying on the floor, ready for Tails to take to his workshop (aka the garage) and figure out where, or rather, when this thing came from, get some memory files, and most importantly, find out how it time travels.

Gathering all that data, Tails is able to unlock the secrets of time travel, and also he figures out that changing the past will not change the future this Metal Sonic comes from, how is that? Welp, let me explain

How Will Time Travel Work?

In science fiction there are 3 types of time travel theories:

The Fixed Timeline

The Dynamic Timeline

The Multiverse

For this theory, we are going with the idea Sonic 4 will follow the rules of the Multiverse Theory

Don't let that name fool you, I'm not saying we gonna get Sonics from other universes crossing over like game Sonic, boom Sonic, Sanic or whatever, no, here's how it works:

According to this theory, when a time traveler journeys to the past, or future, they do not travel within their own timeline but rather to a parallel timeline. This means that any actions taken in the past do not affect their original timeline, thereby avoiding paradoxes.

Think of it this way, let's say you have two choices, you can choose between going to the mall or staying home, in one timeline you chose to stay home, in the other you went to the mall, in this theory, those two timelines still exist as different universes, like a river dividing in two different directions, the choices we make create different branching timelines.

I think a fun way Tails could explain this to the group would be using the logic of video games, like, imagine he explaining while geeking out and we get visuals referencing classic Sonic games.

In a video game, there's two ways a level can go, you either pass, or you get a game over, now, what happens when you get a game over? As in, what happens in the game's story, well, the bad guy wins, but that doesn't really matter since you can just restart and try again, right? Right, at the end of the game we always end with the "timeline" where the hero didn't die at all, but, what about those alternative timelines we DID get a game over?

Tails explains that he believes these robot versions of Sonic come from an alternative timeline where Sonic DID get a "game over", thus creating a "Bad Future".

By saying "game over" Tails would't be implying Sonic died btw, he believes Sonic just got captured in this alternative future and needs some help heheh how naive what, who said that?

Anyway, now that we got the logistics of time travel, I guess it's about time we address the metallic hedgehog in the room.

What's The Deal With Metal Sonic(s)

So, from the little we've seen from Metal in that post credit scene, one thing is certain, he wanted Sonic dead.

That to me at least kinda confirms the movie will work with the Multiverse logic in mind, because otherwise, if Metal were to kill past Sonic then the events in the timeline would change drastically, that is, if we were going with a Dynamic timeline where past events affect the future. In the Multiverse theory, killing Sonic in that moment would simply create a new timeline where Sonic just went for a race with Tails and Knuckles, disappeared and never came back home, a new bad future.

And that, my friends, is what I think those Metal Sonic's were trying to do, going back in time to different moments where Sonic was alone, distracted and helpless, just to eliminate him over and over and over again, creating a bunch of branching timelines where Sonic get's his game over, by an enemy he doesn't even know.

Think of it as Metal taking the "There can only be one Sonic" thing to the next level, there can only be one timeline where a Sonic wins, and that Sonic is ME.

It makes sense right? At least I think it does, you tell me.

I'm working with what we've seen so far, all we got was Sonic distracted and all alone, then Metal showing up like the Exterminator, indicating he's from the future, put those two informations together and my brain says "Metal is going back in time to kill Sonic in all the moments in his life he was alone and distracted"....... My brain is kinda crazy tho ngl.

And with the little information we got I'm about to go even crazier as I explain what lead to Metal's creation.

I'm still pondering how Eggman would work in this theory, I'm torn between just saying he died and Shadow survived and crash landed because he's just THAT durable, or, both him and Shadow time traveled to the future through Chaos Control. Either way, sounds good, I'm undecided, but let's say Agent Stone started to work on Metal Sonic first, then a few years later Robotnik just popped up again in the narrative because Shadow just made a Chaos Control that took them to the future actually, so they're fiiiiiine, this is the part of the theory I'm least sure of.

Events That Lead To The Bad Future

In this segment I'll describe what I believe happens in the alternative timeline Metal Sonic comes from, all the following events would be narrated through exposition and flashbacks, not actually play out in the movie for too long, just thought it was important to make that clear.

After the events of Sonic 3, Stone spiraled down into deep resentment towards Team Sonic, believing it's Sonic's fault for the doctor slowly going insane and ultimately resulting in his supposed death.

So, he decides to finish what the doctor started, by creating a robot that could not only match, but also surpass Sonic.

We know from Sonic 2 that Stone has at the very least SOME knowledge of technology, he changed a whole coffee shop into a secret base. However, even though he is skilled, I don't think Stone could ever make Metal Sonic on his first try (Nor Eggman honestly)

So he started with prototypes, sending them to cause havoc so Sonic and friends would fight them, and he could collect more data about how Sonic fights

And each time, model after model, Sonic would always beat these "knockoff" Sonics, and each time, they'd come back improved, but never good enough to defeat them.

Perfect opportunity for us to get a flashback or exposition with these guys being these prototypes

Years go by, let's say, 5 years, with Sonic now being 20 years old, Knuckles is 21 and Tails is 13, and in between that time Eggman and Shadow also came back through Shadow's Chaos Control (Again, this is the part of the theory I'm most iffy about, could use some ideas from ya'll).

So far the future is bright for the boys, they went through many adventures together, are way more skilled and fought so many pesky robots it's practically a game for them at this point.

It's not a game for prototype Metal though, who has retained the memories of all his defeats, every single time Sonic has mocked him with a cheeky grin, every failure, reminding him he's not good enough.

From that, something sparks inside of Metal's programing...

Hatred.

He's tired of this vicious cycle, tired of following orders from both Eggman and Stone. However, he's still confined by his programming, an un-willing servant who wants to break free but simply can't.

Until one day, Metal get's a whole new look, as usual, he's sent to fight Sonic and friends, once again as he always does... But something different happens.

He manages to disobey.

When Eggman orders Metal to attack Sonic, Metal decides a diferent strategy, and attacks Tails instead, knowing that Sonic would throw himself in front of his little brother to protect him, and indeed that's what happens... Metal did't miss his shot.

For the first time in one of these battles Sonic got injured, not seriously injured but enough to impress Eggman, shock Stone and give Metal a huge boost in his confidence, and mainly his ego.

The villains get away, with Stone now worried with how Metal seems to be deviating from his programing and wanting to do things his own way, while Eggman is just over the moon knowing Metal's artificial intelligence has advanced so much, he decides to go a step further, giving Metal more freedom to do as he pleases without the need of commands, and also uses Sonic's quill to power him even more, announcing their little project is out of beta, and Metal Sonic is their final design.

Little did they know, Metal had other plans.

Neo Metal Takeover

Yeah you've read the title, you knew it was coming, I need this boy in the movies very badly.

Basically, Metal Sonic upgraded himself, gave himself a voice, an identity, seeing himself as Sonic perfected, a Sonic that wasn't held back by fear of losing his loved ones nor bound by any morals. He was Neo Metal Sonic.

Just like in Sonic heroes, Neo rebels against Eggman and Agent Stone, and goes to defeat Sonic his own way, in a permanent way that would finally put an end to the endless cycle.

They put up a good fight, but ultimately, Sonic in a trapped, Neo Metal wins, he has Sonic right where he wants him and Tails and Knuckles can only watch, he's ready to give the killing blow... But... Sonic doesn't look defeated.

He smiles... That same determined smile Metal has seen over and over again, and in fact, Sonic doesn't even look at Neo at all, he just turns to Tails, eyes full of hope as he says "It's up to you now, I'm counting on you"

He probably would say something to Knuckles too but in true middle child mocking older sibling fashion he'd just go "You better beat this piece of scrap metal or I'm SOOOO gonna come back as a ghost to haunt you"

So yeah anyway, alternative future Sonic dies, rip, Tails, Knuckles and Shadow (bet you forgot he was alive) all fail to defeat Neo because dude can just copy abilities and also he made a bunch of Metal Sonic clones.

He proceeds to take over the world under the disguise of Eggman (because just like in Heroes he can shapeshift) following exactly how the doctor envisioned the world, dominated by machines and pollution, sooooooo yeah, we get our Bad Future! Uhuuuuul!

You'd think after all that Neo would be satisfied, right? He'd just lay back and enjoy his world domination... But nope! He couldn't accept that in Sonic's final moments the hedgehog still had that gleam of hope in his eyes. Neo didn't win, not really, because he never got to break Sonic's spirit.

Neo decides to fix that.

Now, I don't know how they gonna deal with the means Time Travel is activated, it could be with the Time Stones like in Sonic CD, but I don't know where Neo could find those, or, it could be with the Chaos Emeralds like it is in Sonic 06. Either way, the point is that Neo figured out how to time travel, and he chose to use that power to be the ultimate hater.

So, we circle back to where we've started, when I said Metal Sonic is going back in time to different moments where Sonic was alone, just to kill him, over and over and over again.

Needles to say, Neo Metal Sonic got issues.

Of course it's not exactly HIM who is doing it, Neo is still in his empire in the bad future, while his clones are doing the job of killing a bunch of past Sonics, but still, they're all connected in the same network, like they're all the same character.

Sooo anyway, you might be wondering, where the heck is Amy?

So, Back To Amy

You may have noticed I didn't mention Amy at all during this whole explanation about how the bad future came to be, welp, that's because she's not from that timeline.

Now this is the part it's kinda confusing and I remind ya'll about the whole "Howl's Moving Castle" paradox I've mentioned in the beginning, logically it doesn't make much sense, but I'm looking at this in a POETIC way, like they were destined to meet and the stars aligned yadda yadda yadda that kind of stuff.

Logically, it doesn't make sense Howl met Sophie because her future self from a few days in the future told him to come find her in the future, since she only time traveled BECAUSE she met him in the first place, and yet, we don't question it, we just think it's cute.

The same way, in this theory, it doesn't make sense Sonic met Amy because her future self from a few days in the future told him to come find her in the present, since she only time traveled BECAUSE she met him in the first place, and yet, I'm asking you guys to not question it, we just think it's cute, and writing time travel sucks.

Anyway, so what do I think will be Amy's role in this story?

Well firstly, she falls for Sonic, that much I feel certain about, but her role won't be just fangirl and be all sticky, after being rescued from that Metal Sonic attack, she's HYPED to join Sonic and the others in this adventure, she wants to help them the best she can, even if her hammer is just a toy hammer (yeah she only get's the futuristic one later) and she's not as fast as Sonic, she still promises to not leave them until they defeat those robots, and thus, she fits right in with the team.

She's girly, enthusiastic, has a heart of gold, and most of all, she's optimistic.

Once Tails finishes building the time travel gizmo, which as I've mentioned before, could be on Sonic's shoes or a wrist watch, they're all set to go to this bad future, believing they can help their future selves deal with these robots.

However, Sonic can only time travel if he runs very fast for a long time, and he can't really do that carrying Amy, Tails & Knuckles on his arms, right?

So, Knuckles decides to stay behind, trusting on Amy to be the muscle of the team in his absence. Sonic carries Amy on his arms, while Tails holds tightly to his back. As Sonic runs, the speed builds and builds to the point sparkles start to glow around him, but, Sonic runs so fast, Tails can't hold on and... Tails let go and falls before they time traveled, being left behind in the present.

Sonic and Amy are on their own in the bad future, and Neo Metal Sonic couldn't be happier to get his second chance.

With that said... I'm gonna stop here.

Final Notes

I could go on detailing how I think the events would play out from here, but I'll just summarize with a few bullet points:

As soon as Sonic and Amy get to the bad future they're already chased down and captured, and Sonic loses the gizmo that allows him to time travel, thus they're trapped there for a good chunck of the movie.

Tom and Maddie are still in this story, in the first act they support the boys going to their homeworld to find Amy, giving them snacks for the trip and just asking them to be careful. They help out Tails when he's making his time travel gizmo, and in the second act, we see them in the bad future, along with other humans who are trying to hide from Neo Metal, like a kind of resistance group.

Throughout the narrative, Amy with her positivity would be the source of hope Sonic needs in order to overcome all the pain he'll endure seeing this horrible future. No matter how bad things get, Amy believes in him, and in turn Sonic believes in himself, even if his future self lost, that Sonic didn't have an Amy, so there's still a chance.

Sonic also helps Amy in her own character journey, she doesn't see herself as a heroine, and is deeply insecure about her future, hence why she's so interested in tarot cards, so she can be sure of what's gonna happen next, however, Sonic teaches her to see her own value, and how amazing she already is in the present. They both highlight the best parts of one another.

You may be wondering where Tails, Knuckles and Shadow are in this bad future. Well ya'll might hate me for this, but I do like a good cliche, and it sure is a cliche that in dystopian alternate future you see your loved ones turned into mind controlled robot versions of themselves... Yeah

What can I say? I love some angst. Also, it would be a neat callback to the roboticization thing from the Archie Comics.

Shadow wouldn't be roboticized, he'd be locked up by Neo. Sonic and Amy find him and free him, we get a heartwarming moment where Sonic is relieved he's alive, and they get at least one ally that can help them figure out how to fix all this mess.

6. Eggman and Stone could be locked up along with Shadow, and I can only imagine how pissed off Sonic would be seeing the doctor again, I need Shadow and Amy holding him while Eggman comedically runs away scared.

7. Climax of the movie would be Neo and Sonic having a race for the Master Emerald, and just to prove he doesn't need any upgrades to beat Sonic he reverts back to his original smaller form we all know as Metal Sonic. The race is actually a distraction so Amy, Shadow, Eggman and other human characters can free Tails and Knuckles from their roboticized state. Of course, Sonic wins, Neo get's mad and almost emotional about the fact he can't even beat a younger version of his "loathsome copy" in a race. Sonic tries to reach out to him and reassure him he doesn't have to be perfect (or some other kind of lesson like that), and extends a hand just like he has done to his two other rivals in the past... Neo Metals says "naaaaah f*** that" and grabs the Master Emerald, turning himself into Metal Overlord, and THEN we get our final climax.

Obviously Sonic wins, all the metal sonics were controlled by Neo so they deactivate when he's destroyed. But before Sonic goes back to his time, Tails, now conscious, points out that the shenanigans Neo Metal pulled with time travel has created a bunch of divergent timelines where Metal Sonics have killed Sonic in the past, which is pretty bad for the time stream as a whole.

Amy offers herself to time travel to the same points in time these Metal Sonics went, saying she can defeat them before they hurt Sonic in any timeline. It's too risky for Sonic to do that himself, since if he's seen or touched by any of his past selves it could be a bit troublesome.

Soooo yeah, that's what Amy was doing in the post credit scene, just doing a clean sweep of all the Metals who tried to hurt her darling Sonic. Using a hammer that future Tails designed that allows her to time jump directly to all those Metals, but she can't stay in those points in time for too long.

And with that, I think we're done.

Final Thoughts

Although I'm happy with this theory I do recognize the chances of it being right are VERY low.

The tone of these movies is quite different from all of this, the implications of Sonic dying, even if not shown of screen, might be a bit too much for Paramount to accept, and even SEGA honestly.

But hey, it happened in 06 so there's a small chance I suppose.

The point of this theory really is that I hope we get to SEE Amy develop into that Amy we saw in the post credits, and the idea of her going back in time to save Sonic over and over again just sounds very cute to me, for once she's the one saving him and not the other way around.

All in all, I hope you enjoyed this theory/almost fanfic. Please leave your opinion, constructive criticism and questions in the comments! Hope we can improve these ideas together!

Thank You For Reading!

[w-d-g]

Do you know. Is there anyone out there who is missing you? Who would notice your absence? Assuming they even remember you. Is there anyone to care? With how ornery you seem I'm not sure if there would be. I can't see anyone caring beyond what you could do for them. I'm not sure if any of 'us' care beyond the amusement you provide :)

((this fool spilled espresso on the universe in a nutshell . wtf

((obviously he is unaffected by this, you can tell by his sure and proud body language

((asks open now until . idk how long. a while

((under the cut is my process yap session. this was agood one to do it on bc i had to redraw the whole pose and scene, and the head angle allowed me to show off the Noggin Prism. i would have done like, a speedpaint type thing, but my insecure ass cant handle ppl seeing the 900 mistakes i make every time 😭😭😭

((so first i usually draw out the hipbone, ribcage, leg forms, and approximate head shape/position. for this guys figure im going for a combination of the machinist and goth anime legs uncle. hes got no arms but i usually put in shoulders for an expressive silhouette. i dont do the legs every time, as sometimes for more simple poses it isn’t necessary.

((second i figure out what i wanna do with the hands, drawn on a separate layer. good time to remember sketch is just a general loose layout, and you can change things whenever you decide.

((third i do whatever props are supposed to be around. i do this after the pose bc i usually base the “camera” angle around what makes sense for the pose, then i know what perspective they should be.

((fourth i do the goop. i do it after the pose and hands because its similar to the way i would draw clothes - kinda held up by and draped over the body forms.

((step five i dont often need to do, but for when i have to draw the head at an unusual angle, i make this boxy mapping shape. this step is a little complicated so i wont explain it in full, but its super helpful and easy once you understand the shapes that make up a face. if enough people wanna know i might make a separate post for it.

((step six is lineart. i did the full face lineart before i covered it with the hands, because once its all lined, you can make sure that it looks correct. usually its easier to tell during lineart because the forms are more clearly defined, and you can tell where things might not line up, or they look unnatural. you can do the hands first if you turned off the head layer, but its harder to tell where the hands should be resting. you can see in this step i changed the shape of the hands and the position of the head a bit, which happens often in this step for me usually due to the definition of the forms i mentioned. remember its good to zoom out and look at the whole form often so things arent drawn too big or small!

((next was doing the neck, white goop outline, filling in the face and hands, and doing some minor shading on the white bits. since i use a black background, i dont actually need to fill in the body with black. when i color lineart, i duplicate it and put the color on the layer on the bottom. this is so i dont accidentally change or erase the lineart, but also because if i decide to color the lineart, i can mask layer the lines instead of the lines And the color. this is also the step where i lined and colored the props.

((after the

((after i finish doing the black prop outlines and coloring them, i turn the black back up to full opacity. i turn it down so that im not trying to see black lines on a black background.

((then i finish up with resizing, text, and whatever extra effects i decide to add.

((i dont do all of these steps every single ask, but i should because shortcuts fuck it all up fr. thats all hope this was cool and helpful.

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 13 - Rebuilding

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: Dr. Jensen is back, minimal case talk….. Something really nice in the end for everyone who made it this far.

A/N: 1 chapter left + the epilogue after this! Y'all can do it, wait is almost over before the full story is out :)

Masterlist

The hallway leading toward Dr. Jensen’s office was quieter than usual. The rest of the floor was eerily silent as you made your way through the maze of corridors.

Her office lay tucked away from the bustle of agents and analysts alike, rushing around, copying reports, debriefing, and analyzing clues. You walked slowly, the weight of the past week still pressing heavily on your shoulders. You couldn't figure out why the confrontation with Collins kept lingering in your mind, it still felt just as vivid and raw as the day it all happened.

You could still sense the feeling of the cold air rising from the rink beneath your feet, hear the chaotic echoes of screams and shouts, see the flash of Collins’ twisted smirk, but worst of all—you could still hear the sounds of gunshots. When you went to bed, they were there, moving about your day, they were there. Nothing seemed to help you.

Dr. Jensen’s door was slightly ajar. You had never really noticed it, but the placard on it read Dr. Elise Jensen, Behavioral Therapist in clean, professional lettering. You hesitated, your hand hovering just above the polished wood. Your mind drawing to her name—it suited her—you knew your brain was stalling, keeping your body from pushing forward and walking into the office.

You knew you had to talk to her, if not for your well-being, then at least as a courtesy to thank her, to wrap the case up. You tried to justify that this visit was more for her than it was something you needed.

“Come in,” her voice called gently, as though she sensed your presence.

You pushed the door open to find her seated behind her desk, the space was warm and inviting despite the setting. You loved how the office had been decorated with warm tones—it made it feel safe.

A soft beige rug covered part of the hardwood floor, and shelves lined with books on trauma, psychology, and healing framed the room. A pair of comfortable armchairs sat opposite her desk, one of which she motioned toward with a kind smile.

“Good to see you again,” she said as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

You settled into the chair, the cushions swallowing you slightly, and glanced around. A calming landscape painting hung on the wall beside her desk—you always studied it when you didn't know what to say. A small diffuser on a shelf emitted the faint scent of lavender—that one was new. The quiet hum of the air conditioning was the only other sound in the room.

Dr. Jensen leaned forward slightly, clipboard in hand but her full attention on you. “How are you feeling today?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I don’t really know,” you admitted. “It’s like... I’m here, but part of me is still back there. On the ice.” You tried to explain, hoping that she had already been briefed about what had gone down. You didn't know if you were ready to retell the story yet.

She nodded, her expression soft with understanding. “That’s a very normal response after a traumatic event. Your mind is still trying to process what happened, and it’s common to feel disconnected or stuck. Let’s talk about what’s been coming up for you since then. Have you noticed anything specific—any triggers or moments where it feels harder to cope?”

“Crowds,” you said after a moment of thought. “And loud noises. Even applause—it used to be something I loved, but now it just... it feels wrong. I can't even enjoy a movie or music if the noise is too loud.”

“That makes sense,” she said gently, jotting something down on her clipboard. “Crowds and loud noises mimic the overwhelming sensory input from that moment for you. It’s your brain’s way of trying to keep you safe, but it can become overactive, making everyday situations feel threatening.”

You looked down at your hands, swallowing hard. “How do I stop it? Feeling like this?”

“It’s not about stopping it immediately,” she explained. “It’s about retraining your mind and body to feel safe again. One of the ways we can do that is through grounding exercises. Do you know any of those?”

You shook your head.

“They’re simple techniques to bring you back to the present moment when you feel overwhelmed,” she said. “Let’s try one now.”

Dr. Jensen guided you through a grounding exercise, her voice calm and steady as she instructed you to name five things you could see, four things you could feel, three things you could hear, two things you could smell, and one thing you could taste.

By the end of it, the tightness in your chest had loosened just a little.

“That’s grounding,” she said, smiling. “It’s a tool you can use anytime, anywhere, to help you stay present and reduce the intensity of your emotions. It's ideal to inform your close ones—or generally people you're around—on how the exercise works, to make sure someone can guide you through it if needed.”

You nodded, absorbing her words.

She leaned back slightly, her pen tapping lightly against her clipboard. “Another important part of your recovery will be self-care I think. I know it sounds simple, and maybe silly given the circumstances, but taking care of your physical and emotional well-being can make a big difference. Small, consistent actions—like getting enough rest, eating well, and doing things that bring you joy—can help you regain a sense of normalcy.”

“Joy feels... distant,” you said.

“It might for a while,” she acknowledged. “But even small things— reading a book you love, taking a quiet walk, bubble baths—can start to remind you what it feels like to experience moments of peace.”

You nodded, though the idea felt foreign.

“Lastly,” Dr. Jensen said, her tone a little firmer now but still kind, “don’t hesitate to reach out for support. You don’t have to go through this alone. If you feel like you’re struggling, call me. We can schedule another session or even just talk things through over the phone if it's urgent.”

You met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes anchoring you, it felt nice. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

“You’re taking the right steps,” she said warmly. “Be patient with yourself, and remember—progress isn’t linear. It’s okay to have good days and bad days. What matters is that you’re moving forward, even if it’s just one small step at a time.”

As you left her office, a grounding exercise flyer tucked under your arm, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. It was fragile and could be broken quickly, but it was there, and for now, that was enough.

The conference room buzzed with peaceful energy, the kind that followed most cases once the unsub was caught. Files and laptops were scattered across the table, and the team seated in their usual spots—although the seats weren't assigned, the agents somehow found their way to the same seat every time.

Despite the sense of relief after Collins’ capture, the room was anchored by the weight of what came next.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression composed but serious. He looked relieved. The open file in front of him was thick with documents—arrest reports, forensic analyses, witness statements—bearing the weight of how extensive the case had been. He gestured toward a chart displayed on the screen.

“Our job isn’t done yet,” he began, his tone steady. “Collins is in custody, but securing a conviction will depend on the strength of our evidence and how we present it in court. The U.S. Attorney’s office has taken the lead on prosecution, and they’re expecting our full cooperation to ensure there are no vulnerabilities for the defense to exploit.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Do we know who the defendant is?”

“Lynn Avery,” JJ replied, consulting her notes. “She’s handled high-profile cases before, but she’s meticulous. She’ll want everything ironclad, especially with someone like Collins—It beats me that she's willing to take his case.”

Hotch nodded. “Collins’ defense team will likely argue entrapment, or claim that his rights were violated during his arrest. They’ve already filed a motion to suppress evidence gathered at his residence, citing an alleged lack of probable cause for the warrant. And they're seeking compensation from the FBI since we shot him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Morgan said, his tone sharp. “We had more than enough evidence to justify the warrant—Garcia’s cyber trail, the victim connections, and the physical evidence we tied to him.”

“And that’s what we’ll argue,” Hotch replied. “But the defense will push hard to discredit every step we took. They’ll scrutinize the chain of custody for every piece of evidence, claim coercion in his confession, and argue procedural missteps. We need to be ready for all of it.”

Reid tapped a pen against his notebook. “Given Collins’ personality profile, he’s unlikely to accept a plea deal unless it guarantees minimal sentencing. His narcissism and delusional sense of control will make him think he can manipulate the trial in his favor.”

“Exactly,” Hotch said. “Which means the trial will be a spectacle. He’ll want to testify, to put himself in the spotlight. We need to prepare for that, too.”

JJ glanced at the file in front of her. “Avery also requested comprehensive victim impact statements. She wants them submitted within the next five days to ensure they’re included in the pre-trial proceedings. The problem is that there's only one victim left, and I'm not sure she's ready for that conversation yet.” JJ sighed, and everyone instantly knew she was referring to you, being the last victim alive connected directly to this case.

“I’ll get the digital files ready,” Garcia chimed in, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. “We’ve got detailed reports on every confirmed victim, plus notes on the suspected ones. I’ll cross-reference to make sure nothing’s missing, maybe we can use some of those, although Ms. Avery probably has a way of discrediting the evidence.”

Morgan looked toward Hotch. “And the likely judge? Do we know who’s presiding over the trial?”

“Judge Abbott,” Hotch said, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. “I met with him yesterday to discuss the case, but he denied my request to prosecute Collins myself.”

“Wait,” Rossi interjected, an amused smirk on his face. “You tried to charm Abbott into bending protocol? Hotch, he’s about as flexible as a steel beam.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of humor passed through his eyes. “It was worth a try. Abbott’s insistence on maintaining objectivity is admirable, but it means we’ll need to focus on supporting the prosecution rather than steering it. As I had hoped”

Garcia leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Wait, wait. Did you actually, you know, smile during this so-called charm offensive? Because if so, I need photographic evidence.”

The team chuckled, their laughter breaking the tension. Even Hotch allowed a faint upward twitch of his lips before refocusing.

“Back to business,” he said firmly, though the lightness in the room lingered. “Morgan, you and Prentiss will liaise with the U.S. Attorney’s office to coordinate trial prep. Reid, review Collins’ prior legal encounters. Look for anything the defense might try to use to frame him as sympathetic or rehabilitated.”

“On it,” Reid said, already making notes.

“Rossi, you and I will finalize the timeline of events and ensure the chain of custody for all evidence is documented. JJ, work with Garcia to figure out the victim profiles and organize any possible statements.”

The room buzzed with acknowledgment, each team member slipping seamlessly into their assigned roles.

Morgan leaned back, his demeanor softening for a moment. “Gotta say, though, it’s a relief to have this guy off the streets. And to see you, Hotch, of all people, trying to sweet-talk a judge? That’s just the cherry on top.”

Hotch allowed himself a small exhale, part sigh, part laugh. “Let’s focus on making sure Collins stays off the streets for the rest of his life. Humor can wait until the case is closed.”

As the team gathered their materials and filtered out of the conference room, chatting quietly among themselves, Rossi lingered behind, his gaze following Hotch as he organized the remaining case files on the table. Rossi leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his old friend with a smirk.

“You’re not just protecting her as part of the job, are you?” Rossi asked, his voice was calm but pointed, already knowing the answer.

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening slightly on the folder in his hand. He quickly recovered, placing the file down and meeting Rossi’s gaze with as much neutrality as he could muster.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hotch replied evenly, his tone betraying nothing.

Rossi chuckled softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. “Come on, Aaron. I’ve known you for years. I’ve seen that look before.”

“What look?” Hotch countered, his posture straightening defensively.

“The one that says you care about her. Not just as a victim, not just as someone under your protection. It’s deeper than that.” Rossi tilted his head, his eyes sharp and unyielding. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you protecting her because it’s part of the job, or is it something more?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the weight of the question pressing down on him. “I’m... Dave! My responsibility is to ensure her safety and well-being, nothing more.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re good at a lot of things, Aaron, but lying? Not so much—at least not lying to me. You can try to convince me—or yourself—that this is strictly professional, but we both know better.”

Hotch opened his mouth to protest, but Rossi held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t deny it. Not to me.” Rossi’s tone softened, though his words retained their weight. “I’m not here to judge you, Aaron. But I am here to remind you of something important: life’s too short to bury your feelings. You can’t protect her from everything, but you can make her feel safe. And sometimes, that’s all someone really needs.”

Hotch looked away, his usually stoic expression betraying a flicker of vulnerability. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch finally said, his voice low. Rossi could sense the vulnerability in his tone but decided to keep it to himself. “It’s not that simple. She’s been through enough. The last thing she needs is—”

“Is someone who cares about her? Someone who’ll fight for her, stand by her?” Rossi interrupted his voice firm, almost unkind. “Aaron, she’s stronger than you think. And so are you. Stop overthinking and start feeling.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping slightly as if the weight of his own emotions was finally too much to carry. Rossi stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Rossi said with a small, understanding smile. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t wait too long to figure it out.”

The words hung in the air like a silent command. Hotch nodded slowly, his resolve hardening as he met Rossi’s gaze.

Without another word, he left the room, his steps purposeful as he headed toward the elevator.

Rossi watched him go, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Go get her boy,” he murmured to himself before turning to gather the rest of his things.

The sound of your blades carving through the ice echoed faintly through the rink as Hotch stepped inside, the cool air hitting him immediately. He scanned the space, his eyes landing on you at the far end of the ice. Even from a distance, he recognized the fluidity of your movements—the same program you’d skated at regionals. It was mesmerizing, but there was a heaviness to your routine now, an intensity that spoke of your struggle to reclaim it as your own.

You were lost in the choreography, each spin and glide pulling you deeper into your own thoughts. Hotch stood quietly by the rink boards, watching you for a moment. There was something achingly vulnerable about the way you skated, as if you were trying to shed the weight of everything that had happened.

He knew you'd gone to see Dr. Jensen today, but you hadn't come to see him afterward—you usually did.

An idea—terrible, impulsive, and completely uncharacteristic of him—formed in his mind as he watched you. Without giving himself time to second-guess, Hotch turned and made his way to the skate rental counter.

The young attendant behind the counter looked up as he approached, her expression shifting from polite indifference to hesitant recognition. “Uh... Agent Hotchner, right?” she asked tentatively.

Hotch nodded, keeping his tone calm, trying not to sound authoritative. “I need a pair of skates.”

The attendant blinked in surprise. “Skates? For... you?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice firm.

Her hesitation was evident as she glanced toward the ice, where you were still completely absorbed in your routine. “I, um... are you sure? I mean, it’s not really a good idea for—"

“I’m sure,” Hotch interrupted, his steady gaze cutting off her protests.

Reluctantly, she handed over a pair of skates, her expression somewhere between confusion and mild alarm. “Just... be careful, okay?”

Hotch nodded his thanks and moved to a nearby bench, where he sat down to buckle up the unfamiliar blue footwear. It took longer than he anticipated to get the right feel—years of tying dress shoes and boots had not prepared him for this buckle mechanism that didn't seem to grip the grooves right—but eventually, he managed to secure the skates tightly enough to feel somewhat stable.

Rising cautiously, he wobbled slightly, gripping the edge of the bench for support. He glanced toward the ice, noting that you were still oblivious to his presence. With a deep breath, he made his way to the edge of the rink.

The first step onto the ice was... precarious. Hotch’s legs stiffened instinctively, his arms flailing slightly before he caught his balance. He gritted his teeth, his focus narrowing as he took another hesitant step, then another.

By the time he was halfway across the ice, he was certain that this had been one of his worst ideas to date. His legs felt like they were made of lead, every muscle locked in an effort to keep him upright. He could feel the amused stares of the rink attendants boring into his back from the offices that looked out over the rink, but he pressed on, his eyes fixed on you.

You still hadn't noticed him, too focused on nailing a particularly intricate combination of spins, you'd done it before and knew you could do it over and over. But as you came out of your final turn, your eyes caught a flash of movement that didn’t belong.

Your gaze snapped to the figure cautiously making his way across the ice, and your heart nearly stopped.

“Hotch?” you called, your voice tinged with equal parts disbelief and alarm.

He looked up at you, his expression a mix of determination and barely concealed panic. “I, uh... thought I’d join you,” he managed, his voice strained as he concentrated on not falling.

You skated toward him quickly, your movements effortless compared to his awkward shuffle. When you reached him, you grabbed his hands instinctively, trying to steady him.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He met your eyes, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Making a fool of myself, apparently.”

You slid backward a little, your skates slicing clean arcs into the ice as you circled around him a few times, studying the tension in his shoulders and the tight set of his jaw. The rink was quiet, save for the faint hum of the lights and the muffled scrape of his borrowed skates against the surface. Finally, you stopped in front of him, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, tilting your head as you took him in.

“Hotch,” you start, a teasing edge in your voice. “You do realize this isn’t exactly your natural habitat, right?”

His lips twitched. “I’m well aware,” he admitted, shifting his weight awkwardly, his knees stiff as he tried to stay upright. “But I’m not here to skate. I’m here for you.”

The sincerity in his tone cut through the lightness of the moment, and your expression softened, a little surprised. “Why, though? Why put yourself through this?”

He exhaled, his breath a mist in the cool air between you. “Because I needed to see how you were holding up. After everything—Collins, regionals, all of it—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

You glanced down, the ice beneath your skates suddenly more fascinating than the man risking his life on two thin blades in front of you. “I don’t know if I am,” you admitted quietly. “It’s like... everything’s in pieces. My career, the trial, my future—it all feels so fragile, like it could fall apart any second.”

Hotch stepped closer—carefully, deliberately— his voice low. “It won’t. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re not alone in this.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes holding several emotions you were not used to seeing from him, and it pulled at something deep within you.

“And Collins?” you asked, the name tasting bitter on your tongue.

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “The team and I are doing everything we can to ensure he’s prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. He won’t walk away from this.”

The tension between you hung in the air, stretched taut but unbroken. You nodded, your skates gliding forward just slightly as you closed the small distance between you.

“And what about you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrowed. “What about me?”

“You’ve been carrying so much—this case, the team, me...” You gestured vaguely. “How are you holding up?”

For a moment, he didn't answer, his expression guarded, but then something shifted. Without a word, he stepped closer, his movements still awkward on the ice but steady enough. His hands lifted, hesitating for a heartbeat before they cupped your face. His touch was warm, and grounding, and it sent a shiver running down your spine.

“I’m not,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ve tried to keep this professional, to do the right thing, but I can’t anymore. I’ve fallen for you—completely. And I know it’s wrong. I know it’s unprofessional, and I’m not like this. I don’t lose control like this.”

He’s rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush. “You deserve someone who can give you everything, without hesitation. But I can’t... I can’t stand by and pretend I don’t feel this way. I—”

You stopped him the only way you knew how. Leaning up on your toe picks, you pressed your lips to his, silencing the torrent of words falling from them. The kiss is slow and deliberate, your hands finding their way to his chest as his breath hitches. He froze for a moment, his entire body tense, but then he relaxed, leaning into you as if he had been waiting for this his entire life.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, and his expression is a mix of shock and something softer, something vulnerable.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”

His hands dropped to your shoulders, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of your jacket as he exhaled shakily. “Would you—” He paused, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied himself. “Would you go out with me? On a real date?”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you that no ice could chill. “Yes,” you simply said.

The tension in his posture melted away, and for the first time, you saw him truly relax, a small, unguarded smile tugging at his lips.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension melting as the weight of the moment gave way to something lighter. The corners of your lips tugged upward as you took both of his hands in yours, his larger, warmer palms enveloping your own. Mischief sparkled in your eyes as you started skating backward slowly, coaxing him into movement.

“Come on,” you teased, giving his hands a gentle tug. “Let’s see if you remember anything I taught you from the last time you got on the ice.”

Hotch raised a brow, his expression skeptical as he glanced down at his skates. “That feels like a lifetime ago. I wouldn’t count on much.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your grin widening. “Well, you’re a quick learner. And you survived that day without breaking anything, so I’m hopeful.”

He exhaled a short laugh, the sound warm, though a flicker of uncertainty still crossed his face. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“You’ve faced armed suspects and dangerous criminals, Hotch,” you said. “I think you can handle skating with me.”

He hesitated for a beat longer before he nodded slightly, his grip firming on your hands. As you begin to pull him forward, his legs are stiff, and his movements awkward at first, the careful tension in his body noticeable.

“Relax,” you encouraged him. “Bend your knees a little, remember. Trust me—you’ve got this.”

He mimicked your instructions, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to find his balance. For a fleeting moment, he almost glides, but the motion is shaky, and he gripped your hands tighter as his balance started wavering.

“Steady,” you murmured with a grin, skating a little slower to match his pace. “You’re doing better than I expected.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered, though there was a flicker of amusement in his voice.

You laughed, your voice echoing in the arena. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But seriously, you’re doing great.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said dryly, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Maybe,” you admitted with a playful shrug. “But it’s nice to see you out of your element for once.”

As you continued to pull him along, you could feel his confidence growing bit by bit, the stiffness in his movements easing slightly. His dark eyes flicked to yours, filled with a mixture of determination and trepidation that’s both endearing and amusing.

“You know,” you said, slowing to a stop but still holding his hands, “for someone who claims to hate skating, you’re not half bad.”

“Flattery won’t make this any easier,” he replied.

You took a step closer, your hands still clasping his, and smiled up at him. “Maybe not. But I think you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

Hotch looked down at you, his eyes softening as his expression shifted. The vulnerability you saw earlier returning.

“Thank you,” he smiled quietly. “For not giving up on me.”

You squeezed his hands gently, your heart swelling. “I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

The sound of your skates scraping the ice faded as you both started gliding toward the edge of the rink. Hotch's grip on your waist tightened just slightly, as you guided him toward a stop.

For a moment, neither of you spoke—it was as if time itself had frozen. Then, before you could even process the thought, his hands pull you gently yet firmly against him.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Hotch tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead before he looked back at you, his expression full of love.

Without another word, his lips found yours in a kiss, slow at first, as if he was savoring the moment. Your body instinctively leaned into him, the warmth of his chest against yours melting away the chill of the rink. His kiss is tender but filled with an undeniable heat, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

As the kiss deepens, you feel a thrill run through you, an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore anymore. When he finally pulled away, you both gasped for air, but the closeness lingered. Hotch's breath was warm against your lips, and his hand slid down to your waist again, pulling you even closer. He gazed down at you with that familiar, almost teasing smirk on his lips, as he started pressing several kisses to your lips.

"So... pick. You. Up. Tomorrow. At. Seven?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded without hesitation, caught up in the moment, in him. But before you could say anything more, he leaned in again, each kiss feeling like a promise.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

[flapmemelord]

sonamy (?) .... all the discussion around Ian Flynn's take with Amy in Frontiers and the edits on her character that followed racked my brain in the right ways... I've tried my hand at what kind of mental process Amy would go through to stop chasing after Sonic, while taking account why and how they stayed the way they were for such a long time (and why that made sense for them).

Some symbolism and A LOT OF other thoughts explained below

Sonic holds his hand (warm, familiar) to invite Amy back to their chased-being-chased (romantic subtext-ey?) dynamic in public but in private spending some time together (black knight date i see you), but this time, she doesnt take it.

She would have taken it before, it's safe, it's known, it's been fun - not necessarily always. He plays along this dance they've known forever, and it looks like this could be it. She ignores how deadpan he looks, pushes him around, hopes he relents / takes in stride her playing around / tries to take in stride how annoyed he looks, rolling his eyes. he smiles still, it's easier when he smiles (She's a Fe dom) she probably didnt pick a place to his tastes, but she wanted to try something new at a café today and... it'd be what she'd always known. Maybe this time she shouldn't, maybe it's the doubts, maybe its wanting to see how far she's come too.

Amy wouldn't actually tie him down to a life that isnt his style. She likes him best when he's being this force of nature, true to himself, compassionnate, free. So she asks herself if letting him go is her becoming more like him (her dream isn't to marry him but becoming like him), as in letting him express his need for freedom (note it's a misconception on her part, Sonic is very much free with her, at least much more than SHE thinks he thinks he is).

I think it's easy to project onto Sonic, even if you know him well. Or maybe time got the better of Amy. She probably has faith (devotion to the end of the planet) in him and could not believe wrongs could be done by his hands. And in a sense she's right, because Sonic is a goal to reach as a character rather than one going through developpement rn or whose moral compass is ever really challenged. He's already had his act and it happened off screen (apart from well sonic lost world or other iterations of the character, like prime which target his recklessness). I'd find completely believable if Amy said she'd never think a SECOND Sonic would see her as a nuisance (as in really /neg), but I like it if Sonic is encouraged to speak about how he feels. Though it sounds tough (the boy might be a very healthy ESTP, but trickster Fi is trickster Fi) And I think that's why I like Ian Flynn's direction with Amy (although i like less the repression of her outward femininity, i like boom!amy's design but one of Amy's core strength is how girly she is). Since she's not reaching out to Sonic, it challenges him in another way if he wants to be part of her life.

There's this sense of privacy that these two share in their dynamic too - which I don't think I've noticed with other characters. As someone that struggles with emotional permanency it took me a WHILE to understand how, why, how, Sonic could still feel something for Amy. Another being he's a boy at heart, and that romance doesnt mix well with that. I don't see them doing more than some (very very sublte and) occasionnal flirting here and there, at most. Even if they make Amy's feelings for Sonic dissapear. Don't mind platonic dynamics Sonamy AT ALL, I'd love to see them close......

[itstobias149]

Character Dynamics

🐂Bald Bull🐂

Hello everyone! I bring you another one of my many character dynamic posts. I know Kaiser got voted to be next, (I’m working on it) but I had this one read! This contains oc and oc x canon! So if you aren’t a fan just keep scrolling!

This post doesn’t just explain the dynamic but has some head canons as well! I hope you all enjoy this one will be a lot longer than the others because I have put way more focus on his character in general, what can I say, I’m biased.

✨The Dynamic as a whole ✨

Marie and Bald Bull share a unique dynamic, one defined by tension, comedy, and the unusual situation they find themselves in together. At first glance, the two couldn’t seem more different—Marie is a calm, level-headed cutman with a knack for handling chaos, while Bald Bull is a fiery, intense fighter who wears his emotions on his sleeve. But this contrast sets the stage for a sort of playful antagonism that borders on flirtation, though often clouded by the very real, if unspoken, attraction they share.

Bald Bull’s feelings for Marie are loud and unabashed, much like his fighting style. He’s not shy about expressing his interest, often going out of his way to charm her with exaggerated acts of strength or ridiculous stunts, like flexing or trying to impress her with his feats of physical prowess. For someone as emotionally reserved as Marie, these displays can feel overwhelming at times, but they also make her laugh, which catches her off guard.

Marie, for her part, is surprisingly patient with Bald Bull, despite his overbearing nature. She tolerates his advances, but it’s clear that she’s not exactly interested in taking things further—at least not yet. She finds him charming in a clumsy, almost childlike way, but the energy he exudes can be a bit much. That said, there’s a part of her that finds his attention flattering. Still, her focus is mostly on her job, and she doesn’t quite know how to navigate his persistent flirtations without upsetting the delicate balance they’ve established.

In many ways, their relationship is defined by playful teasing and awkward moments. Bald Bull’s attempts to win her favor can feel like a comedy of errors—he might, for example, try to impress her by demonstrating how strong he is, only to accidentally break something, or he’ll get overly competitive when it comes to sparring. But despite these blunders, there’s an undeniable affection in his actions. He’s not just doing it for show; there’s genuine care beneath his tough exterior, though his methods are, shall we say, unrefined.

Marie, in contrast, tends to offer a more subtle form of affection. She isn’t overt in her feelings but shows she cares through small gestures—like offering him a glass of water after a grueling workout or giving him some advice on how to improve his training. Even when his behavior borders on annoying, she doesn’t snap at him; instead, she endures it with a wry smile, sometimes even offering him a soft chuckle when he does something ridiculous.

While there’s a lot of humor in their interactions, there’s also a sense of unspoken tension. Marie isn’t completely immune to Bald Bull’s advances. There are moments where she’ll catch herself thinking about what could be, but then she remembers the more frustrating aspects of their dynamic—the way he dominates her space or how his bluntness makes her uncomfortable. She knows he’s a fighter who’s used to being in control, but she’s not going to let that control extend to her personal life. Still, there’s a warmth she feels toward him that she can’t entirely shake, even if it’s wrapped up in a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation.

For Bald Bull, it’s not just about the chase—he genuinely seems to care for Marie, even if his way of showing it can sometimes come off as overbearing. His desire to win her over is rooted in more than just his pride; he’s been alone for a while and perhaps longs for someone to share his life with, someone who sees him beyond the ring. Yet, at the same time, his pride and his brash nature often stand in the way of truly connecting with her on a deeper level.

In the end, their dynamic is a complicated blend of humor, attraction, and unspoken affection. Both characters are locked in a dance of sorts, unsure of how to move forward. Marie isn’t ready to embrace what Bald Bull offers, but she’s also not completely shutting him out. For now, their relationship remains a little chaotic and a little funny, but with the possibility of something more simmering beneath the surface—whether either of them will act on it remains to be seen.

🐂Greeting the Bull🐂

The first time Marie met Bald Bull was, to put it mildly, a whirlwind. She had been sent to the event to assist as a cutman, and the moment she stepped into the chaotic world of the boxing ring, she knew it wouldn’t be an ordinary night. Bald Bull had just finished a brutal match, and he wasn’t in the best of moods. His frustration was palpable as he stormed out of the ring, his fists clenched, his face flushed with anger.

Marie had been standing off to the side, quietly going about her business, when he spotted her. With his usual intensity, he approached her, his frustration not even bothering to hide itself behind the typical bravado. “What do you think of that match?” he barked, voice sharp as he looked her up and down, seemingly sizing her up. His eyes were wild with irritation, his normally bombastic demeanor laced with a thin thread of annoyance.

Marie, not one to easily be intimidated by over-the-top personalities, glanced up from what she was doing. She simply replied, keeping her tone calm but firm, “It’s not my place to comment on the match itself. I’m here to do my job.”

This response only seemed to irk him more. “Your job?” he scoffed, stepping closer, looming over her as he crossed his arms. “You’re just a cutman. What do you know about the heart of a fighter? You don’t understand what it’s like in the ring.” He was practically sneering at her, but his words were laced with more frustration than malice. The sting of his loss was still fresh, and he needed someone—anyone—to take it out on.

Marie stood her ground, unflinching as he continued to rail on. “If you’re mad about the match, maybe you should’ve trained harder,” she quipped back, not one to let him intimidate her. Her voice remained steady, though the hint of sarcasm was hard to miss. It wasn’t an insult, but it certainly wasn’t a consolation.

That’s when it happened. In an unexpected and reckless move, Bald Bull, still fired up, reached down and, without any warning, picked her up in a sweeping motion, lifting her off her feet with surprising force. It wasn’t a gentle gesture, not by any means—more like a display of strength, a way of asserting control over the situation.

Marie, momentarily caught off guard, let out a small yelp. “Hey!” she snapped, struggling slightly in his grip. She didn’t appreciate being handled like that, especially not when she was just doing her job. Her initial shock quickly turned into annoyance as she squirmed a bit. “Put me down!”

Bald Bull, though, only seemed to find it amusing, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he held her, clearly not fully aware of the boundaries he was crossing. “You think you know how it feels to lose, huh?” he taunted, his grip tightening ever so slightly, as though testing her reaction. “You think your words matter?”

Marie’s heart was pounding now—not from fear, but from irritation. She had a strong, independent streak, and no one, especially not some angry fighter, was going to toss her around like she was some trophy to be won over by brute force. “I don’t think you know anything about respect,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing.

The tension was thick between them. For a split second, Bald Bull seemed to realize how far he’d gone. His expression softened, and with a sigh, he reluctantly put her down, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely done venting.

“I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trailed off, his face still flushed with anger but now showing a hint of something else—embarrassment, perhaps, mixed with the recognition that he had crossed a line. His posture shifted slightly, no longer as aggressive, though he still looked a bit uncertain about how to handle the situation.

Marie straightened herself out, brushing off her clothes, her glare still fierce but her voice much calmer. “Next time, don’t try to pick me up. I’m not a punching bag, and I’m definitely not your emotional outlet.” She turned to walk away, shaking her head as she muttered under her breath, “Idiot.”

Bald Bull stood there for a moment, watching her walk off, his anger simmering down, replaced with a strange mix of admiration and confusion. He hadn’t expected her to stand up to him so boldly—most people just backed down when he got like this. But Marie? She didn’t flinch, and that intrigued him. In his mind, the tough cutman had earned a modicum of respect, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it just yet. He hadn’t meant to go that far, but now, there was an undeniable seed planted in his mind—a strange, nagging feeling that this woman wasn’t like the others. And that, for better or worse, meant he’d probably have to find a way to win her over.

✨The Moment it Set In✨

As time passed, Bald Bull found himself becoming less irritated by Marie’s presence, and more drawn to it. After their first awkward encounter, something about her steady composure and no-nonsense attitude began to settle him, even when the weight of his frustrations grew unbearable. He started to notice how she carried herself in the chaos of the boxing world—how she wasn’t fazed by the madness and noise, how she handled each situation with quiet resolve. It was almost like she had this force field around her, one that allowed her to stay grounded while the rest of the world spun out of control.

One of the things Bald Bull hated most about the world of boxing was the paparazzi. The flashing cameras, the constant questions, the invasive attention—they always managed to get under his skin. It wasn’t just the fame he despised; it was the pressure, the way they made him feel like a spectacle rather than a fighter. He had always prided himself on being in control, but every time he stepped into the limelight, he felt like he was losing a part of himself to the public’s insatiable hunger.

It was after a particularly grueling match, one he lost by a razor-thin margin, that the paparazzi came swarming in, as they always did. The usual cameras flashed in his face, and the barrage of questions felt like nails scraping against his brain. “What went wrong, Bull? Do you think your age is catching up to you? Are you ready for retirement?” The questions never seemed to stop, and Bald Bull could feel his blood pressure rise with each intrusive query.

Marie had been standing at the sidelines, as always, prepared to do her job, but she noticed the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened with each word the reporters threw at him. He was visibly uncomfortable, his frustration building with every flash and every uninvited comment. It wasn’t the loss itself that was tearing him apart—it was the constant scrutiny, the way they treated him like a punching bag just because he was in the spotlight.

Without a second thought, Marie stepped forward, moving between Bald Bull and the paparazzi, positioning herself like a shield. She didn’t speak at first, but her presence was enough to stop the press from advancing. They paused, confused for a moment, before one of them tried to push through.

“Excuse me, miss, we need a statement from the fighter,” one of the reporters tried to demand, his camera still aimed at Bald Bull.

Marie turned to face them, her expression unwavering. “Back off,” she said firmly, her tone brokering no argument. “He needs a minute. You’ll get your statement when he’s ready.” Her words weren’t harsh, but there was something in her voice that made it clear she wasn’t about to let them pester him any further.

Bald Bull watched, surprised by how easily she took control of the situation. Usually, he would’ve snapped at them, told them to get lost in his typical brash way. But with Marie standing there, blocking the cameras, he felt a surprising sense of relief. She wasn’t intimidated by them. In fact, she seemed to take more offense to their presence than he did.

As the paparazzi hesitated, murmuring among themselves, Marie turned back to Bald Bull. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” she said, her voice soft but authoritative. She gently placed a hand on his arm, guiding him through the crowd, her calm demeanor helping to steady him. He wasn’t sure what it was about her touch, but it worked. The tension in his shoulders started to ease, and the world felt a little less suffocating.

As they made their way through the exit, the flashbulbs continued to pop behind them, but Marie kept him focused. She kept her body between him and the reporters, never faltering, never letting the chaos break her stride. She was his buffer, his calm in the storm of flashing lights and invasive questions.

Once they were out of the immediate press zone, Marie led him to a quieter corner of the venue. Bald Bull was breathing heavily, his frustration still bubbling beneath the surface, but the anger had dulled. He leaned against the wall, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair.

“Thanks,” he muttered, still not quite used to the fact that someone had actually stood up for him like that. “You really know how to handle them.”

Marie shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just don’t take well to people treating others like circus animals. You don’t owe them anything.”

He laughed, a deep chuckle that felt almost foreign to him. “Most people would’ve crumbled under all that. You just… walked right in and took control.”

Her smile softened, though there was a certain seriousness in her eyes. “Someone has to keep you in check, right? You’re way too worked up about things that don’t matter.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I get it, though. You don’t like being in the spotlight. But you don’t have to fight that battle alone. You’ve got people who’ve got your back. Even if you don’t always want them there.”

Bald Bull didn’t know what to say at first. There was something about the way she said it that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to fight every battle with his fists. He could rely on someone—someone who understood the struggle without asking for anything in return.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Maybe I don’t.” He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thanks, Marie.”

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t completely alone in this world of blood, sweat, and flashbulbs. And it was a feeling he didn’t want to let go of anytime soon.

✨Grow Up✨

The locker room was quiet, save for the sound of heavy breathing and the occasional shuffle of Marie’s boots against the floor. Bald Bull had just come from a brutal fight, and his body was aching in places he didn’t want to acknowledge. Blood trickled from a cut on his brow, and the exhaustion from the fight weighed heavily on him. But it wasn’t just his body that hurt—it was the sting of his pride, the gnawing frustration of losing yet again. He had expected to win, of course, but it didn’t happen, and now he was left to nurse his wounds both physically and emotionally.

Marie had been doing this for years—cleaning up after fights, taking care of boxers who were too proud to admit when they were hurt. But this time, it felt different. This time, she could see the tension in Bald Bull’s shoulders, the way he clenched his jaw, the way his fists twitched like he was ready to strike at something—anything. It wasn’t just the pain; it was the anger, the frustration that boiled inside of him.

As she moved to clean a gash on his forehead, she could feel him flinch before she even touched it. “Hold still, Bull,” she said firmly, already knowing what was coming. “This’ll sting.”

“Shut up, I know,” he muttered, already bracing himself for the pain. But as the antiseptic touched the wound, he hissed sharply, his body jerking away from her hands.

“That hurts!” he snapped, his voice laced with irritation.

Marie’s eyes narrowed, and she didn’t flinch. She was used to this. “No shit,” she said dryly, not even looking up from her work. “It’s a wound. What, you think it’s gonna feel like a breeze?”

Bald Bull scowled, his patience quickly running thin. “I don’t need you to talk to me like that.”

Marie didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I think you do,” she shot back, her voice steady but tinged with a no-nonsense edge. “You’re acting like a child right now.”

His brow furrowed, and he snapped, his anger bubbling over. “I don’t need this right now, Marie. I just fucking lost, alright? Can’t you just keep quiet for once and do your job?”

Marie’s hands paused for a second, but she didn’t back down. She met his gaze head-on, unflinching. “And what, you think throwing a tantrum is gonna make it any better? Get over yourself, Bull. You lost. It happens.”

The words hit harder than the antiseptic ever could, and for a moment, Bald Bull stared at her, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and disbelief. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like this—not when he was vulnerable, not when he was hurting. But Marie wasn’t like the others. She didn’t care about his title, or his pride, or his reputation. She saw him for what he was in that moment—a man who was upset, frustrated, and in pain—and she wasn’t about to coddle him through it.

“Yeah, I lost,” he muttered under his breath, feeling the sting of her words and the weight of his defeat. “But it’s not easy. I’m not some damn robot who just gets up after every hit.”

Marie didn’t let his words derail her. She kept cleaning the wound, working with the same efficiency as always. “No, you’re not. But you’re acting like an idiot if you think that means you get to whine about it. You can’t just keep getting angry every time you lose. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been knocked down?”

He clenched his fists, but Marie’s unwavering tone kept him rooted in place. “You’re not the first fighter to lose, Bull. And you won’t be the last. But it’s how you handle it that counts. Don’t let this loss define you.”

Bald Bull felt his anger start to simmer down as her words sunk in. She was right. He knew she was right, but admitting it felt like swallowing glass. He didn’t want to be told how to feel, especially not by someone who wasn’t even a fighter. But somehow, hearing it from her felt different. She wasn’t patronizing him; she wasn’t pitying him. She was just… telling it like it was.

Marie finished tending to his wounds, and for the first time in a while, Bald Bull didn’t protest. She hadn’t been gentle with him, but in that moment, he didn’t need gentleness. He needed someone to call him out, to make him face his emotions head-on instead of hiding behind the anger and pride.

“There,” she said, stepping back and wiping her hands on a towel. “Now, stop being a baby. You’ve got a long way to go before you’re finished, and this temper of yours isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

Bald Bull took a deep breath, still feeling the remnants of his anger but not quite as intense. “You really don’t take any shit, do you?”

She gave him a small smirk. “Nope. And I’m not about to start with you. Now get it together, Bull. You’ve got more fights ahead of you.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, but there was something in it that sounded more like acceptance than defeat. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it together.”

As he stood up, still grumbling under his breath but with a touch of humility in his posture, Marie didn’t say another word. She had done her part. It was up to him to decide whether or not he wanted to listen. And as he walked toward the door, still limping a bit but standing taller than he had when he entered, he realized something. She had given him more than just medical care. She had given him a reminder that he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone. Even when he was being a jerk, she wouldn’t let him stay in that place. And that—more than anything—felt like the real healing.

✨Cameras and Fumes✨

Bald Bull’s anger issues are rooted in a combination of deep personal frustration and external pressures, with one of the biggest sources being the constant barrage of media attention and the invasion of his privacy. As a top-tier fighter, he’s in the public eye, and that comes with the expectation of perfection—something that wears on him, especially when the media treats him more like a spectacle than a person.

The cameras, the flashing lights, the reporters constantly following him—it’s a relentless cycle that never seems to stop. After a fight, he’s hounded with questions, sometimes trivial, sometimes cruel, always invasive. They dissect his every move, his every word, turning him into a character for their headlines rather than acknowledging the complexity of who he really is. He feels like there’s no escape from the pressure to maintain this image of invincibility, especially when they dissect his failures and blow them out of proportion.

There’s a particular type of anger that builds when you have no control over your own life. His every movement is under a microscope, and no matter how hard he tries to retreat into privacy, the media is there, poking and prodding at his wounds, both physical and emotional. When the cameras are constantly on him, he can’t help but feel like he’s being suffocated, unable to breathe without it becoming fodder for public consumption. Even after a loss, the reporters come at him with questions, offering no grace, only demands for answers. For someone like Bald Bull, whose identity is already intertwined with his physicality and public persona, it’s a constant reminder that he’s not just a fighter—he’s an object of consumption.

His anger is his way of fighting back, a protective shield around his vulnerability. It’s not just about being tough in the ring—it’s a defense mechanism that extends to how he handles personal interactions, how he deals with emotions. He channels his frustrations through this anger because, in his mind, it’s the only thing that keeps the chaos at bay. But in reality, it only isolates him further. The anger is almost a reflex now, a knee-jerk reaction to feeling cornered, exposed, and misunderstood by the very world that’s supposed to celebrate him.

The lack of privacy makes it hard for Bald Bull to find a sense of peace. He can’t unwind without someone sneaking a picture or asking him about his last match. There’s no place to retreat to, no place where he can let his guard down and just be. He’s constantly being watched, analyzed, and criticized—every defeat, every flaw magnified until it feels like his whole existence is reduced to his failures. The world expects him to be this larger-than-life figure, and it drives him to hold onto his anger as the one thing that can’t be taken away from him.

It’s a destructive cycle. The more he lashes out, the more the media feeds off it, spinning it into another headline that only fuels the fire. He’s trapped in this image of the angry, untouchable fighter, and while that might have served him well in the ring, it’s suffocating him in the real world.

✨Nosey Media✨

The media’s obsession with Bald Bull and Marie grows as they become more intertwined, even though neither of them are willing participants in the narrative the press wants to spin. As the press notices the undeniable connection between the two—a cutman who sticks by the fighter who’s often volatile, a woman who manages to stay unshaken despite his outbursts—they begin to manufacture their own stories, all while ignoring the truth.

The first story the media latches onto is the possibility of a romance between Bald Bull and Marie. They see the way she watches over him, how she’s the only one who can calm his fiery temper after a loss, and they start weaving a narrative that the two are secretly in love. Every glance they share, every moment of genuine care is exaggerated and twisted into something more than it is. The press takes the smallest moments—her holding his arm after a fight, the way she’s always there to patch him up—and paints it as evidence of a clandestine affair. They know that sex sells, and they see an opportunity in the tension that exists between the stoic cutman and the brash fighter.

They stalk their every move, taking photos when Marie walks into the locker room or when Bald Bull is caught whispering something to her after a match. The captions in the tabloids run wild: “The Fighter’s Secret Romance: Behind Closed Doors with His Cutman” or “Is Bald Bull’s Heart Already Spoken For? Inside His Relationship with Marie.” The headlines suggest something more than just a professional bond, pushing a narrative that is far from reality.

Marie, of course, doesn’t take kindly to this. She’s not a public figure and certainly not someone to be defined by gossip. Every time the story hits, she feels like the press is taking something pure—her professionalism, her role as a cutman—and twisting it for their own benefit. She resents it, but she’s used to it. She knows it’s part of the job, and she’s not one to be caught off guard. But the more these rumors persist, the more she feels trapped in a story that isn’t hers to tell. And while she doesn’t react to the press directly, her frustration builds, and she becomes more protective of Bald Bull, not only from the cameras but from the lies they tell.

The media also picks up on the moments when Bald Bull’s temper flares, using it as evidence of their supposed “toxic relationship.” They seize on every argument or heated exchange between the two, painting Marie as a long-suffering woman who has to deal with the “angry fighter.” The way Bald Bull snaps at her after a tough loss is treated like a blow-up, and the press uses it as fodder for more sensational headlines: “Is Marie Strong Enough to Handle Bald Bull’s Fury?” or “Fighter’s Rage: Cutman Stands Her Ground in Volatile Relationship.”

This only adds fuel to Bald Bull’s anger. Not only does he have to deal with his own frustrations over his losses and the constant pressure of the public eye, but now the media is trying to paint him as a monster. He feels like he’s being misunderstood at every turn, and the more the press amplifies his anger, the more defensive and isolated he becomes. The narrative of him as the “bad boy” boxer who needs saving from the sweet, patient Marie only pushes him further into his shell. It’s frustrating to him because he’s never asked for pity or sympathy. He doesn’t want to be a character in someone else’s story.

Marie sees the headlines and hears the whispers in the press room. At first, she tries to ignore it, focusing on her work, but as the stories grow more absurd, she can’t help but be drawn into them. It’s one thing to be seen as the tough cutman, the one who fixes the fighters’ problems, but it’s another to be misrepresented in such a personal way. She isn’t in love with Bald Bull. She’s not his therapist or his emotional savior, and yet, every article makes it seem like she’s a damsel in distress, just waiting for him to “come around” or for the “anger to subside.”

She hates it. Hates how the media strips away her autonomy and reduces her to nothing more than a side character in Bald Bull’s life. She’s not anyone’s arm candy, and she’s certainly not someone who needs saving. But the media doesn’t care. They want a story, and they’ll create one whether it’s true or not.

As the rumors grow and the press intensifies their focus on Marie, Bald Bull becomes more and more protective of her, despite his own anger. He sees how the media is targeting her, how they’re twisting their dynamic into something it’s not, and he doesn’t like it. Even though he’s constantly frustrated and filled with rage, his instinct to shield Marie from the nonsense becomes stronger. But his protective side is a bit rough around the edges. His anger often manifests in overbearing ways—he tries to shield her from the reporters or tells her to ignore them, even though he knows it’s not fair to her.

When a particularly nasty headline comes out, Bald Bull storms out of the locker room, furious, ready to confront the press. But Marie, with her own brand of calm defiance, steps in front of him. “Not today, Bull,” she says firmly, standing between him and the cameras. “If you want to get through this, we’ll do it on our terms, not theirs.”

It’s in these moments that the cracks in their relationship with the media begin to show. Bald Bull’s protective instincts clash with Marie’s desire to keep her privacy intact. He wants to fight back, but she’s more than capable of handling things in her own way. Still, the tension between the two is palpable as they both try to navigate this world that is constantly trying to invade their lives. And while they both handle the media differently, they’ve developed an unspoken bond of mutual respect, with each of them becoming the other’s shield in their own way.

The media may continue to build stories off them, but Bald Bull and Marie have learned to endure the chaos together, navigating the turbulent waters of fame with a shared understanding of each other’s boundaries and frustrations. Despite the press’s relentless attempts to craft a narrative, they’re not giving in to the story the world wants to tell.

✨Feelings Growing✨

As the tension between Bald Bull and the media grew, so did the quiet moments between him and Marie. It started subtly, in the quiet spaces where the cameras couldn’t reach—away from the bright lights of the gym, away from the press hounds. There, in the moments when the world wasn’t watching, the relationship between the two began to shift, evolving from something professional into something more personal.

At first, it wasn’t anything major. A casual conversation after a fight. Bald Bull, still buzzing from his anger and frustration, would walk over to Marie, seeking some kind of solace, even if he couldn’t admit it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else, certainly not the press, and certainly not the trainers or other fighters. He wanted someone who wouldn’t judge him for his emotions, someone who would just listen. Marie was that person.

Over time, those moments became more frequent. After particularly grueling fights or stressful days, Bald Bull would find himself lingering around the gym, watching Marie pack up her things, his mind swirling with all the things he couldn’t say out loud. When the gym emptied out, when the noise of the world quieted down, he’d start staying a little longer, helping her clean up or just standing nearby in silence. She would give him little tasks to do, like carrying a water cooler or grabbing her coat, things that didn’t mean much but made him feel needed.

There were nights when the gym felt like the only place he could breathe, and when Marie noticed this, she made it clear she didn’t mind him sticking around, offering him a bit of peace in the chaos of his own life. Slowly, his visits became more about the moments after the fights and less about his career. It was the beginning of their growing connection, something neither of them quite understood but couldn’t ignore.

✨The Quiet Escape✨

It wasn’t long before Bald Bull found himself sneaking out at night, craving the peace Marie seemed to offer him. His visits were never planned—just spontaneous, driven by the need to escape the clamor of the media and the constant attention that followed him everywhere. He didn’t want anyone else to see him, especially not the paparazzi. They knew his schedule, they knew his every move, and every time they caught him in a private moment, they twisted it. He had no desire to be photographed outside a restaurant or leaving a club, and the last thing he wanted was for the press to catch him seeking solace in someone like Marie, who was already caught up in the media frenzy herself.

So, he would sneak away late at night, when the streets were empty, and drive to her place. No press, no cameras, just him and the silence of the world. Sometimes he’d just knock lightly on her door, and sometimes he’d stand there for a moment, unsure if he should really show up. But each time, she’d open the door with a smile, her expression warm but without any judgment. She’d invite him in, and they’d sit together, the weight of the world seeming to lift off his shoulders.

At first, these visits were awkward. Bald Bull, used to his own isolation and the walls he built around himself, had trouble opening up. But there was something about the quiet of the night, the lack of eyes on them, that made him feel safe. As they sat on her couch or at her kitchen table, sipping something warm, he started talking. Slowly, the barriers came down. He’d tell her about the pressure he faced in the ring, about the frustrations of being judged by the media, about his fears that he’d never be good enough, that he’d always be seen as the angry fighter.

Marie, for her part, would listen. She didn’t offer sympathy, but she gave him understanding, something he’d never really gotten from anyone else. She didn’t try to fix him, didn’t try to give him advice he hadn’t asked for. She just listened, and in that silence, they began to understand each other in ways neither could have expected. She knew he was angry—knew it wasn’t just about boxing, that it was about something deeper, something he was still trying to figure out.

The more these late-night visits continued, the more the walls between them crumbled. He would stay for hours, sometimes until the sun started to rise, talking, laughing, or just existing in each other’s company. The media painted him as a monster, as a villain, but Marie saw him differently. She saw the exhaustion, the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she wanted to be the one thing in his life that wasn’t a fight.

✨The Unspoken Shift✨

Neither of them would have called it “dating”. It wasn’t about romance—it was about the quiet, intimate moments they shared when no one else was around. But as time passed, things started to shift. There were little touches—his hand brushing hers as they passed each other a cup of coffee or the way he’d look at her after a joke, a softness in his eyes that he’d never shown to anyone before. For Marie, it was a gradual thing. She wasn’t looking for romance either, especially with someone like him, who had so much baggage. But as she saw the vulnerability in him, the side that he didn’t show to the world, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

One night, as the night drew to a close, Bald Bull stood up to leave, his jacket draped over his arm. He hesitated at the door, looking back at Marie, unsure of what he was feeling but knowing he didn’t want to go back to the loneliness of his own apartment. He wanted to stay, but he didn’t know how to say it.

Marie noticed the change in him, the way he lingered, the way he seemed almost reluctant to walk out into the cold night. She smiled softly, a quiet understanding between them. “You can stay,” she said, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

And in that moment, Bald Bull realized something he hadn’t expected: maybe he didn’t have to be alone. Maybe he could have this—these late-night visits, this quiet bond with Marie, without the world judging or the press turning it into a headline. He wasn’t sure what it was yet, but he knew he didn’t want it to stop.

So, he stayed. And from that night on, their relationship began to grow, not because of the headlines or the whispers from the media, but because of the connection they had built in those quiet hours, hidden away from the world.

🔔Rivalry Begins🔔

The atmosphere was tense in the arena that night. Bald Bull and Soda Popinski were set to face off in a grudge match, their animosity only amplified by the fact that Marie—his cutman, his calm in the storm—would be working for both of them. It was an odd pairing; while they had both worked with her in the past, neither had ever had to share her attention in the ring. Tonight, however, the circumstances were different, and the heat between the two men was palpable.

The bell rang to start the match, and Marie quickly got to work on both fighters. As she worked her magic, ensuring the fighters’ wounds were treated, there was an air of competition that neither of them could ignore. Neither of them could quite stop themselves from eyeing the other, each man keenly aware of the other’s interest in Marie.

As Marie moved between rounds, working quickly, the subtle tension between Bull and Soda became more overt. After a particularly harsh exchange of punches, Soda flashed a smirk as she tended to his nose, which had started to bleed. “You know, Marie,” Soda said with his trademark grin, “you’re the only reason I’m even holding on right now. A man could get used to this kind of attention.”

Marie didn’t even glance at him, focusing on the work at hand. “You’re in a fight, Soda, not a date,” she muttered as she wiped away the blood. But despite her indifferent tone, Soda noticed the way her fingers lingered on his face for just a moment too long, and he decided to press further.

Across the ring, Bull’s eyes narrowed as he heard the exchange. He didn’t like it. At all. As Marie came over to him, applying some ice to his swelling cheek, Bull couldn’t help himself. He leaned in close, just enough to make her feel the heat of his breath. “Don’t listen to him, Marie. He’s just trying to use you to distract me,” he growled lowly, his words simmering with anger.

Marie’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t let his comment distract her. “Focus on the fight, Bull,” she snapped. “This isn’t about either of you trying to score points with me.”

But her words had little effect. The tension between the men had been building for months, and now it was spilling over in a way neither of them could control.

As the rounds wore on, the taunts between the two fighters grew more biting. Soda continued to throw playful jabs at Bull, calling out his lack of finesse, while Bull countered with barbed comments about Soda’s lack of strength. Every time Marie worked on one of them, the other would seethe, their glances sharp and filled with a mixture of jealousy and frustration.

At one point, after a particularly brutal exchange, Bull’s temper finally snapped. “You think you can just walk up to me and get Marie’s attention like that?” he spat, throwing a punch that barely missed Soda’s jaw. “You’re pathetic.”

Soda smirked, a fire in his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Bull. You really think you’re the only one who can get under her skin? I’m just better at it. She doesn’t need you to be her knight in shining armor.”

Before the fight could escalate further, the referee stepped in, stepping between the two men. “Enough!” he yelled. “This is turning into a brawl. If you two don’t cool it, I’m calling it a draw!”

Both men, bruised and battered, still simmered with anger. The mutual resentment was palpable, but with the referee’s warning, they both reluctantly took a step back—just enough to let the fight continue, but not enough to eliminate the fury that had been building.

Th e Breaking Point:

When the bell rang for the final round, both men were at their breaking point. Their punches were more reckless, fueled by frustration, and the insults between them hadn’t stopped. By the time the round ended, the fight had devolved into something more personal than professional. Both men were exhausted, their bodies bruised, but their pride burned hotter than ever.

The referee had seen enough. “That’s it,” he said, stepping forward. “The match is over. I’m calling it a draw before you two kill each other.”

Marie, who had been working tirelessly between rounds, glanced at both of them with exhaustion and frustration in her eyes. She had seen this kind of fight before—when the rivalry became too much, when the testosterone took over, and it was no longer about the sport. It was about proving something to each other.

As the referee called the match, Bull and Soda both glared at each other, seething with unspoken aggression. But as they turned to walk away, both of them shot one last look at Marie. Bull, still fuming, crossed the ring and approached her first, leaning in just enough to remind her of his presence. “You should stay away from him, Marie. He’s not good enough for you,” he muttered lowly, his tone intense.

Soda, watching this from across the ring, couldn’t resist a final shot of his own. “You know, Bull, I think she likes me more than she likes you. Too bad you’re just a big old bully.”

Marie, already fed up with the entire situation, stepped between them, crossing her arms. “Enough! Both of you! This is ridiculous!” she snapped. “You’re both acting like children. I don’t want any part of this petty rivalry. You’re both here to fight, not to fight over me.”

For a moment, both men seemed taken aback by her words. But it didn’t matter. The damage had already been done. The jealousy, the rivalry, the anger—it was all out in the open. Marie had been caught in the middle, and neither man could ignore the fact that their rivalry now had an extra layer: her.

But as the night wound down, and both men made their way out of the ring, their eyes lingered on Marie, not with hate, but with something more complicated. Neither of them could claim her yet, but both were far from giving up on the idea of winning her attention.

🗞️Can’t let a good thing Stand🗞️

As the rivalry between Bull and Soda grew more intense, it started to bleed into every aspect of Bull’s life. The media, always eager to capitalize on the drama surrounding athletes, fed into the spectacle. Every interview, every comment, every face-off between the two was painted as a personal battle. The headlines screamed about the “heated rivalry,” “unprecedented tension,” and, of course, “Marie caught in the middle.”

For Bull, the whole thing became a suffocating cycle. The cameras were always there—lurking, flashing, capturing every angry glance, every word of frustration, every awkward interaction. But it wasn’t just the media. It was the constant buzz of people trying to turn his life into a circus. And the worst part? They made him feel like he was the villain.

Bull wasn’t a fan of the limelight, not like some of the other fighters. He liked his privacy. He liked the moments when he could just be himself, without the constant pressure to entertain or to fit a certain image. But with every passing day, he felt his privacy slipping further and further away. The media had a way of spinning everything, turning his frustration into fuel for their stories. It wasn’t just about his matches anymore; it was about his relationship with Marie, his tension with Soda, and the growing image of him as the “bad boy” of boxing.

Each time he was forced to answer questions about Soda or Marie, he felt a flicker of rage spark in his chest. “Do you think you’ll ever make up with Soda Popinski?” was a typical question. It wasn’t just about his rivalry with Soda anymore; it was about how much drama the media could milk from it. And they weren’t subtle about their prodding. Every question felt like another attempt to force him into the narrative they had built.

He hated it.

🥀Marie Becomes the Target🥀

What burned him most was the way the media had latched onto his feelings for Marie. They’d started portraying it as some kind of love triangle. The speculation about who she would choose—him, the powerful and unpredictable fighter, or Soda, the charming and flashy rival—was fueling the media fire. And no matter how hard Bull tried to stay focused on his fights, every time he stepped in front of the cameras, he could see the reporters’ eyes gleaming with the same question: Who will she pick?

The whispers in the locker rooms started getting louder, too. It wasn’t just the media anymore. The whole boxing world seemed to be taking sides. Bull could feel the weight of the rumors, the glares from other fighters who were somehow caught in the crossfire. He didn’t just feel like a fighter anymore; he felt like a character in a soap opera.

🥤Soda’s Role in the Media Frenzy🥤

As if the pressure from the media wasn’t enough, there was Soda. Bull hated the way the media played up the “friendly rivalry” between them, portraying Soda as the charming, likable underdog. They had started calling him the “good guy,” framing him as the hero in this strange drama that Bull was now trapped in. It burned him. The more the media painted Soda as the victim, the more it fueled Bull’s resentment. He wasn’t just fighting for victory in the ring anymore—he was fighting for his reputation, for his pride. And the more Soda played up his role as the “good guy,” the more it made Bull look like the villain.

In interviews, Soda was always calm, always smiling, playing up the role of the playful rival. “It’s all in good fun,” he’d say with a laugh, his words always designed to make Bull look like the angry, aggressive one. And the media ate it up. It didn’t matter if Bull had legitimate grievances or if he was simply defending himself—they just wanted the drama. They wanted the rivalry, the tension, and most of all, they wanted to turn Bull into the bad guy.

And damn it, they were succeeding.

🗞️The Cost of the Media’s Narrative🗞️

The more the media spun their stories, the more the tension between Bull and Soda grew. The more they pushed the idea that Marie was the prize to be won, the more Bull became obsessed with protecting her from the chaos they were creating.

He started noticing how she seemed to be getting more cautious around him—more guarded when he was around, like she could sense how much the media was affecting him. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into his mess, but that didn’t stop the media from constantly dragging her into the spotlight.

Bull’s Breakdown:

It all came to a head one night in the locker room after a particularly grueling match. The cameras were all over him, trying to get a glimpse of his thoughts on the upcoming fight with Soda. The usual questions about his rivalry, his strategy, and of course, Marie—“How does Marie feel about the rivalry? Does she think you and Soda can ever be friends again?”—swarmed him like a swarm of flies.

Bull snapped.

“Enough!” he barked at the reporters, his anger bubbling over. “This is my life, not some fucking soap opera! You don’t get to twist everything I do into a story just so you can make a buck!”

The reporters fell silent, but the damage had been done. Bull stormed out, his fists clenched, his mind racing with frustration. It was becoming unbearable. The media wasn’t just reporting on his life—they were controlling it, making him a puppet in their drama.

The Final Straw:

That night, as he sat in his car, trying to escape the chaos, Bull couldn’t help but think of Marie. She had been nothing but kind to him, yet here she was, caught in the middle of a circus he couldn’t control. He hated the idea of her being dragged into this mess. And more than that, he hated how the media was using her, turning her into a pawn in their game.

The thought of losing her—or of her being hurt by this constant circus—was enough to make his blood boil. Bull had been through many battles in the ring, but this was a fight he didn’t know how to win. He wasn’t just fighting to protect his reputation anymore; he was fighting to protect the one person who had shown him genuine care in a world full of chaos.

But the media didn’t care about any of that. They just wanted the drama, the headlines, the story. And as much as Bull hated it, he knew that this war—against the media, against Soda, against the whole damn circus—was far from over.

As the rivalry between Bull and Soda intensified, the WVBA—a business-driven, media-obsessed organization—saw the drama as a golden opportunity to profit. They were always looking for ways to sell the sport, and nothing sold quite like a scandalous, personal feud. So, they jumped in with both feet, pushing the narrative of the “Battle for Marie” even further. They saw the buzz surrounding the two men’s tension and capitalized on it, turning their rivalry into a full-fledged spectacle.

But in doing so, the WVBA began to cross a line, one that not only further strained Bull and Soda’s already volatile relationship but also poisoned the one thing Bull had been holding onto: his genuine connection with Marie.

🗞️The WVBA’s Full-Court Press🗞️

The first time the organization really started pushing the narrative was in the form of a special event—an exclusive pre-fight “rivalry promotion.” They booked a joint interview with Bull and Soda, forcing them into the same space to discuss their feud, to stir up more drama, and most importantly, to fuel the media circus. The producers pushed the idea that Marie’s presence was the key to their rivalry—how she was torn between the two of them, and how the fight for her affection was somehow tied to their careers.

The constant questioning about Marie—the media asking if she would pick one over the other, pushing the idea that her attention was some sort of reward—drove a wedge even further between Bull and Soda. They weren’t just fighting in the ring anymore; they were fighting for something they both felt entitled to. The WVBA fueled this fire, convincing both men that the rivalry was about more than just pride—it was about winning, and more importantly, about controlling the narrative around Marie.

When Bull and Soda were forced to face off at press conferences, they couldn’t even look at each other without snarling. The stares were filled with resentment, jealousy, and a simmering rage that the media ate up. The producers had already started running teaser ads for the fight, showing clips of Bull glaring at Soda, then cutting to shots of Marie in between them, her face filled with unease. The suggestion was clear—this fight wasn’t just about titles or rankings anymore; it was about the battle for Marie’s heart.

✨The Impact on Bull and Marie’s Relationship✨

For Bull, the push from the WVBA began to break something inside of him. The way they framed Marie as a prize, something to be fought over, was degrading. It wasn’t just disrespectful to her; it made him feel like he was a puppet in their game. The more the media sensationalized everything—every look he shared with Marie, every word he exchanged with Soda—the less real it all seemed. His connection with Marie, which had started off so pure, was becoming tainted by the chaos and spectacle the WVBA was forcing on them.

Bull had always valued his privacy, and now, the most intimate parts of his life—his feelings for Marie, his growing frustrations—were on full display for the world. He could no longer just go to her for comfort. He could no longer share a quiet moment with her without wondering if the cameras were watching, whether the reporters were lurking outside, waiting for him to make a move.

Marie, too, felt the weight of the WVBA’s push. At first, she had found comfort in Bull’s company—his rawness, his honesty. But now, every time they spoke, there was this added pressure. Every time they crossed paths in the locker room, during training, or after a fight, she could feel the eyes of the media on them. It wasn’t just the men who were being affected; she was caught in the middle of it too. She could see the way Bull was pulling away, becoming more distant, more frustrated. And she knew why—he hated the way the WVBA was turning their connection into some kind of sideshow.

For a while, Marie tried to maintain the facade of playing along with the show, but as the interviews and press events kept coming, she found herself resenting the whole thing. Bull wasn’t the same. He was constantly on edge, his anger building with every new headline, every new suggestion that he and Soda were fighting for her affections.

🪦It’s Over 🪦:

One evening, the tipping point came. After a press event where both men had been asked repeatedly about their “feelings” for Marie, Bull snapped. He had just finished a workout session, his body still aching from the previous match. Marie had come in to check on him, and when she saw the tension in his face, she knew immediately something had snapped.

“Bull, we need to talk,” she said, stepping into the small room where he was cooling down.

But Bull wasn’t in the mood. He could feel the media’s whispers around him, even in the privacy of the gym. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched. “I’m done with this,” he muttered. “I’m done with all of this circus. The WVBA is turning us into something we’re not. And you… you’re being used as some kind of… prize. I can’t stand it.”

Marie flinched, the words stinging more than she expected. She had never thought of herself as a prize, but in that moment, she understood why Bull felt the way he did. She felt it too—the suffocating weight of the media, the prying eyes, the manipulation.

“Bull, I’m not part of this,” she said firmly. “I didn’t ask for any of this. The media can say whatever they want, but I’m not a game. I’m not your pawn in their story.”

Bull’s anger flared. “It doesn’t matter what they say. They’ve already made up their minds. You’re their story now. You’re just… part of the drama.”

He stormed out before she could say anything else. The words stung more than any punch he could’ve thrown. And for the first time, Marie realized the full extent of what the WVBA had done—not just to Bull, but to their relationship.

🥀The Fallout🥀

The next few days were filled with more of the same—media coverage, endless interviews, and forced interactions. The WVBA pushed the narrative even further, framing the rivalry as something even bigger than before.

But for Bull, it had gone too far. Every time he stepped in front of a camera, every time he heard another question about Marie, he felt like he was losing control. The more the media pushed, the more they turned the whole thing into a spectacle, the more Bull wanted out. He didn’t care about winning against Soda anymore. What he wanted was to escape the madness.

But the WVBA wasn’t going to let him go. They had turned him, and his relationship with Marie, into their cash cow. And now that they had a story, they weren’t about to let it die. The damage was done.

And just like that, what had been something real, something between him and Marie, had been overshadowed by the media’s need for drama and the WVBA’s thirst for profits. The relationship, once built on trust and understanding, was now tangled in a web of public opinion and business agendas. And no matter how hard Bull tried to fight it, he couldn’t escape the prison the WVBA had built around them.

ANYWAY!! I hope you guys enjoyed the lore drop here👉👈✨

-Tobias

[fidgetspringer]

I'm making a memorial drawing for my parents' late cat, but he is black and white and i wanted to make a lineart with color and shading, but my color and shading isn't top notch

do you have any advice?

(i love your art and style so much btw, your lineart, color and shading is absolutely stunning)

Oh that's lovely! I'm gonna do my best to explain how I do my colours and shading for you :)

Black and white are both the hardest colours to shade because they end up looking boring very quickly, but there are some tricks you can use to spice up your rendering a little bit.

If you look at the examples below:

The base black of this boot is not only not a true black, but it's not a true grey either, it's a very desaturated pink, but it does have a colour to it. Something like that should be your starting point. You want to stay away from true blacks and true whites, and only use them in places where they'll have a lot of impact. Like your lines, or the white highlight in someone's eye!

When I shade anything at all really, but especially anything that is meant to come across as white or black I try to cram as much colour into my shading as possible. in the piece above you can see that the deepest point of my shadows tend to get another colour added into them, sometimes i use a cold tone, sometimes a warm one, it just depends on the rest of the piece. The one above has a bit of both!

Same goes for white:

The base colour of Røst's white fur is a cream, not white, the highlight is a very light teal, and the shadows are a warm-ish royal blue, though with the opacity turned down.

In this one, on Rudi's belly, the white of her spot is actually split into two colours, warmer on top, and cooler on the bottom, since the snow would cast a bounce light up onto her fur. On top of that though here you can see how wild you can get with mixing other colours into your base colour to make it pop a little more. You can get away with way more than you think! And it doesn't always have to make sense :)

Baisically the hue slider is your best friend. That's the slider on the outside of the colour wheel in this type of setup. You can achieve a lot of variation in your shading just by fiddling with the hue slider and a bit of saturation and then slapping some of that in there!

I hope this is actually useful and not just gibberish :')

[linadove]

thoughts

the past three days ive been trying to be more in the "now" and it made me realize how much its important to detach from this reality, of course i know its "common information" in shifting.. but you cant sit here and tell me that "all you gotta do is have intention to shift" which is definitely a thing, shifting is what you make it out to be, but when you disconnect from the reality you are in its easier to feel like you're not stuck anymore, you can be anything you want and be ready to shift, i feel that when you do detach from your OR its easy to focus on what you want because you're in such a meditated state where you detach completely to who you are here. while i was in the car today i thought to myself how a lot of cancer patients are mostly known by friends, family, co-workers, strangers, etc., that they're cancer patients and yeah that's horrible that some people actually do think mostly on that part on someone's life, but what I'm trying to get to is when that cancer patient has that name following itself "cancer patient" that person would feel like that's all that they are, that, that word is what defines them, but once they take off that "suit" (meaning getting out of their body spiritually) they realize they're not who they have perceived to be but much more (and sometimes realize that they don't know who they are anymore because they don't resonate with the person they were, because they were so caught up in that title it being the only thing they are),

i do want to apologize if this is a bad analogy to what I'm trying to say, its just that it made sense to me this way,

so in conclusion- no matter how much you identify yourself with a certain doubt/thought, it was never you in the first place and it will never truly be who you are, disconnect to who you are and find what it is that makes you happy in experience, dont let doubts stop you, because you letting it stop you, is stopping you, acknowledge the thought and move on, no matter how much you hate your reality it still do not mean you cannot shift because you dont like it, those thoughts are still not what you are no matter what you say, it is not you. go and be free in the multiverse, discover things you never thought imaginable, detach and let go, the best way to ever let go is to let go of who you were in your OR in the moment of attempting to shift (i am also not saying to completely get rid of who you are in this reality.. just detach when you want to) so practice downing detachment

i hope this makes sense, im not good with explaining things, i sound stupid when i do, but happy shifting guys and good luck on your next attempt <3

<3

[dioslesbianwife]

🐠🐠🐠🐠 it’s me again :3 (sorry for asking so frequently I just legit love your blog so much I check it everyday 😭)

What if the jofoes swapped parts? Like if Dio was suddenly dropped in Morioh or Valentine gets plopped into England and maybe their reactions to the respective Joestars of each part !!

My bad if i wrote this confusingly im bad at explaining 😰

Hi 🐠! No need to apologize, it gives me the hugest smile when i see people liking/reblogging/asking/etc.! Also it wasn't confusing to read, i get what u mean

This is legit a super cool ask, I never thought about this kind of scenario- I really really hope I did it justice. Thank you for requesting! 

Dio in Morioh (Part 4)

Dropped into the quiet town of Morioh, Dio would initially find it underwhelming. But as he explored, he’d grow intrigued by the community, seeing it as the perfect place to establish a new base of power. He’d also be fascinated by the strange happenings surrounding the town, especially with the stand arrow involved.

Dio would be a mix of amused and irritated by Josuke. On one hand, Josuke’s youthful confidence and sharp tongue would entertain him. On the other hand, his unshakable loyalty to his friends and protectiveness over Morioh would make Josuke a nuisance. Dio would attempt to exploit Josuke’s softer side, feigning vulnerability or using manipulative charm to try and get what he wanted.

Dio would see Crazy Diamond’s healing abilities as a nuisance and a perfect counter to his destructiveness. Their fights would be fierce, with Josuke’s resourcefulness often catching Dio off guard.

Funny Valentine in England (Part 1)

Valentine would adapt quickly to Victorian England, where his refined demeanor and persuasive nature would fit perfectly among the aristocracy. He’d establish himself as a man of influence, aligning himself with powerful figures to quietly push his ideals. The strict social hierarchies of the time would appeal to him, as they mirror his belief in structure and sacrifice for the greater good.

He would respect Jonathan’s chivalry and honor but see his focus on morality as naive. He’d initially attempt to sway Jonathan to his side, presenting himself as a kindred spirit fighting for a noble cause. However, Jonathan’s unwavering sense of justice would eventually put them on opposing sides.

Of course D4C is way stronger than Hamon, but since stands weren’t a thing at this point, maybe Valentine would also use Hamon or maybe he’d have gotten hold of the stone mask and uses it to become immortal and fight against Jonathan. Valentine would see it as a means to an end for achieving his goals.

Kira Yoshikage in Part 2

Kira would find the world of the 1930s uncomfortable at first, as it lacks the modern conveniences he enjoys. However, he’d come to appreciate the chaos as a way to blend in while continuing his quiet life of murder. Discovering the Stone Masks would both fascinate and terrify him. He'd see them as a way to perfect himself but fear losing the normalcy he so carefully maintains. Kira would eventually appreciate the vampiric powers of the mask as a way to prolong his quiet, murderous lifestyle.

Kira would be infuriated by Joseph’s unpredictability and humor. Joseph’s ability to think on his feet and see through deception would make it hard for Kira to hide his true nature. Kira might try to manipulate Joseph by presenting himself as an ordinary, mild mannered man, but Joseph would eventually lead him to uncover the truth.

When Kira gives in and uses the Stone Mask, he becomes a terrifying predator. The increased strength and immortality would make him feel invincible, but the loss of subtlety would make it harder for him to stay under the radar. Kira would likely try to maintain his “quiet” life, resuming his activities as a serial killer.

Enrico Pucci searching for the holy corpse (Part 7)

Pucci would see the Steel Ball Run race as an incredible opportunity to fulfill his divine mission. The Holy Corpse parts would align perfectly with his beliefs, and he’d view the chaos of the race as a test of his faith and resolve.

Pucci would be both fascinated and repelled by Johnny’s journey of self discovery. He’d see Johnny’s struggles as a reflection of humanity’s flaws, but also as proof that humanity can ascend through divine purpose. Gyro, on the other hand, would frustrate Pucci with his sharp wit and refusal to take him seriously. Gyro’s cynicism would clash with Pucci’s religious fervor.

His devotion to his mission would make him a dangerous enemy, willing to sacrifice anyone or anything to obtain the Corpse parts. His encounters with the racers would be steeped in psychological warfare, as he’d try to sway them to his side. As he attains more corpse parts, his stand might evolve from Whitesnake to C-moon to Made in Heaven.

Diavolo and Doppio in Egypt (Part 3)

They would be on edge the entire time, knowing that their survival depends on staying hidden. Diavolo would use his connections to send assassins and underlings to deal with the Stardust Crusaders, keeping himself and Doppio in the shadows.

Doppio would have brief interactions with the Crusaders, playing the role of an innocent and harmless man. Polnareff or Kakyoin might pick up on something odd about him, but Jotaro would likely be the one to sense the true danger he presents to their journey.

Considering how the fight against The World went, King Crimson would make Diavolo a nightmare for the Crusaders. His time erasing ability would counteract their strategies, forcing them to rely on quick thinking and teamwork. The psychological pressure of facing an unseen foe like Diavolo would weigh heavily on the group throughout their trip.

Pillar Men in Italy (Part 5)

The Pillar Men would be both fascinated and amused by the modern world. Cars, guns, and organized crime would seem strange and primitive to them, but they’d quickly realize the potential of these new tools for their own gain.

The Pillar Men would see Passione as a challenge worth their attention. Kars would be especially interested in Giorno, seeing his intelligence and resolve as a reflection of his own ambition. Esidisi and Wamuu would likely clash with Bucciarati’s gang, their strength and abilities overwhelming their enemies at first.

Giorno’s cunning and determination would be tested to the limit against Kars. He would see Giorno as both a threat and a curiosity. Giorno’s resolve and cunning would remind Kars of his own determination, but Kars would definitely underestimate Golden Experience Requiem. 

=================

By the end of this experience, if all the villains were to meet up again, I think they’d each have a deeper appreciation for and understanding of each other. Maybe.