#it might be garbage but it’s MY garbage

[luv-lock]

ֹ ⊹ # TRASH BELONGS TO TRASH CAN .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Conner Kent x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts with panties.

Yeah.

Conner is that kind of guy.

It’s not romantic.

It’s not fate.

It’s not some world-shaking love story.

It’s a pair of stupid pink cotton panties peeking out when you bend over to tie your shoe outside a Metropolis strip mall.

That’s it.

He’s flying low, bored, looking for something—someone—to kill time with, when he sees you.

Barely a flash of pink lace and thigh, and something in his brain just short-circuits.

Like a dog catching a scent.

He drops out of the sky without even thinking.

You don’t see him.

You don’t even notice him.

You just stand up, brushing your skirt down, humming some silly, happy little song under your breath like you don't have a single brain cell to rub together.

And when you turn around—

Christ.

Your face.

Your stupid, perfect, sweet face.

Big wide eyes.

Soft mouth.

A face like a goddamn Disney princess, all sunshine and innocence and "golly gee whiz" plastered on you like you stepped straight out of a coloring book.

He stares.

Like a moron.

Mouth slightly open, sunglasses slipping down his nose.

You blink up at him, confused but not scared, tilting your head like a puppy.

"Hi!" you say brightly, like he's not the one who just fell out of the sky like a lunatic.

Conner almost laughs.

Almost feels sorry for you.

You're obviously dumb as a bag of rocks.

Sweet and soft and easy to rip apart.

Like tissue paper.

Pathetic.

Perfect.

God, you’re exactly his type.

Short skirt. Tight top. Pretty tits. Even prettier lips.

The kind of girl who’s either too good for him or stupid enough to fall for the first smile.

And God, he wanted to fuck you.

Not love you.

Not know you.

Just fuck you.

Another notch on the belt. Another story to brag about to Bart or Tim or whoever the hell cared.

Because that’s what Conner did—

Pretend he was the king of the world so nobody noticed he felt like garbage underneath.

Trash.

He always felt like trash.

You just happened to look like heaven.

You end up talking.

Well, you talk. He mostly stares at your mouth and imagines your panties again.

You tell him your name.

You tell him you're new to the city.

You ask him if he wants to be friends.

Friends.

Nobody ever asks him that.

Not without wanting something.

Not without the cold gleam of "what can you do for me?" behind their eyes.

But yours—

Yours are so soft.

So fucking trusting.

Like you really think people are good.

It’s laughable.

It's pathetic.

It makes him want to punch a wall and hold you under his jacket at the same time.

He plays it cool.

Shrugs, smirks, tosses some dumb line about "showing you around sometime."

You giggle.

Actually giggle.

Like a cartoon bunny.

He wants to fuck you stupid.

He wants to keep you on a leash.

He wants to smash your stupid, trusting heart into pieces.

But instead—

Instead he finds himself offering to fly you home.

You accept without blinking.

No fear.

No suspicion.

You just trust him.

Superboy.

The clone. The lab rat. The trash.

And somehow, it’s worse than if you hated him.

It spirals.

He doesn’t mean to get attached.

Really.

He tells himself it’s just a game.

Just a quick fuck.

Just another dumb girl who’ll cry when he forgets to call.

But then you're smiling at him.

Waving at him.

Bringing him stupid little homemade cookies wrapped in pink napkins because "you thought he might get hungry after patrol."

You don't ask him for favors.

You don't drool over him.

You don't flirt like the girls at the clubs.

You just exist.

Soft and warm and good.

So fucking good.

And it drives him insane.

He watches you when you sleep sometimes.

Just to make sure you’re safe, he tells himself.

He learns your routines.

The cafe at 9am. The bookstore at 2. Home by dark.

He memorizes your smell.

Sweet. Something like strawberries and chocolate.

He catches himself smiling at nothing sometimes, just thinking about you.

God, he's pathetic.

God, he doesn't care.

He thinks you’re the last pure thing he’ll ever touch.

He thinks you’re an angel who was dumb enough to fall into the mud with him.

It’s subtle, at first.

Like the way a vine wraps a tree—

Slow.

Gentle.

Inevitable.

Conner doesn’t notice when it happens.

He doesn’t notice how he stops spending nights with random girls.

Doesn’t notice how he starts flying lower, slower, in case he spots you in the crowd.

Doesn’t notice how the inside of his head starts filling up with your voice, your laugh, your tiny hands shoving a paper cup of hot chocolate at him like you’re offering him a crown.

It’s stupid.

It’s pathetic.

He knows it.

But when you smile at him, he feels—

God.

He feels good.

He feels real.

Like he’s not just a science project wearing skin.

You treat him like he's normal.

Like he's better than normal.

You look at him like he’s a superhero.

You look at him like you believe he's good.

It gets addictive.

You get addictive.

It creeps up on him during the little things.

He starts waiting outside your favorite cafe before you open the door.

He pretends it’s a coincidence. You pretend to believe him.

He starts asking if you like the way he styled his hair.

You tell him he looks "sooo handsome," and he practically preens.

He picks fights just to hear you fuss over him.

He lets villains punch him a little harder because he likes the way you patch him up after, scolding him with trembling hands.

He hates it when you frown.

He hates it even more when you go quiet.

The first time you don’t text him back, he almost levels an entire city block.

Not because he’s mad. Because he’s scared. Scared he did something wrong. Scared he lost you.

Because somewhere along the way, without him even noticing—

Your approval became his leash.

He doesn’t realize it yet.

He just knows he feels like a good boy when you smile.

And he’ll do anything to make you smile.

You’re careful.

You’re so, so careful.

You make him think it’s his idea.

You make him think he’s the one leading.

When you pout and ask for little things—

"Would you carry my groceries for me? You're sooo strong."

"Would you help me put up my bookshelf? I can't do it alone…"

—he practically falls over himself to please you.

When you laugh at his jokes—real, big, stupid laughs like you're absolutely delighted—

he feels like he could rip the sun out of the sky and gift it to you.

When you pat his head and call him "my hero"—

he fucking glows.

He thinks he’s protecting you.

He doesn’t realize he’s sinking into you.

Molding himself into whatever you want.

A dog with too many teeth and too much violence, just waiting for you to snap your fingers.

A broken, pretty boy who was just dying for someone to scratch behind his ears and say:

Good boy.

And the best part—

the part that keeps you warm at night, humming to yourself in the dark—

is that he still thinks you’re just a sweet little thing.

He still thinks you’re innocent.

He still thinks he’s the dangerous one.

Poor Conner.

Poor dumb puppy.

He has no idea the real monster is the one holding his leash.

Then come the tests.

Tiny. Harmless.

You don’t mean it, not really—

You just flirt a little.

Bat your lashes at the barista. Laugh a little too sweet at the grocery store clerk.

You even hug one of your classmates a second too long after class, right where you know Conner's flying overhead.

You peek from the corner of your eye and see him.

Standing across the street.

Fists clenched.

Eyes burning red for a heartbeat before he crushes it down.

Poor baby.

He doesn’t come over.

Doesn’t make a scene.

He just watches.

Takes the knife you're plunging in and buries it deeper in himself.

When you finally catch up with him later—acting all clueless, all bright-eyed and soft—you ask if he’s okay.

You look up at him with those stupid, glittering eyes like he’s your whole world.

Conner cracks.

Not in a big way.

Not yet.

Just a little.

His hands shake when he touches you.

He laughs a little too hard at your jokes.

He won't stop looking at your lips.

He clings.

You’re so nice to him.

You let him.

You lean into his touch.

You beam when he picks you up like you're made of spun sugar.

You whimper when you scrape your knee, and he nearly tears the concrete apart.

You make yourself so soft for him.

So small.

You know exactly how to slip your hands around his throat and make him say thank you.

It festers inside him.

A need.

A sickness.

He’s never needed anyone before.

Not really.

Girls were just girls.

Things he touched and threw away.

He was trash. He knew it.

But you—

You feel like home.

When you call him your "best friend," he swears the world stops spinning.

When you slip your little hand into his big, calloused one—smiling up at him like he's your knight—

he thinks maybe he can be someone.

Maybe he deserves you.

Maybe he’s worthy.

You watch it happen.

Watch him rot for you.

Bloom like some ugly, beautiful weed, all tangled and desperate.

You know the cracks in his armor now.

You know he wants to be loved.

Wants to be wanted.

And you know you’re the only thing keeping him together.

You turn the screws.

You start making sad little comments.

"I bet you’ll get tired of me someday… everyone does."

"I know you’ll leave me too. It’s okay. I’m used to it."

"I don’t really matter, right? I mean, you're Superboy. you have real friends."

Conner loses it every time.

"No! I won't!"

"I swear— I swear to God, I’m not leaving you!"

"You’re all I want— all I need— please don’t say that—"

He’s practically begging.

Choking on it.

You hide your smile in his shoulder when he hugs you too tight, like you might vanish if he lets go.

Poor baby.

Poor broken boy.

You’re poisoning him with kindness.

Feeding him a steady diet of guilt, fear, and worship.

And he’s drinking it down like salvation.

Sometimes you catch him just staring at you.

Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face.

Like he’s trying to brand you into his brain.

Sometimes you pretend not to notice.

Sometimes you catch his gaze and tilt your head, all concerned and soft:

"Are you okay, Conner?"

And he always looks away, ashamed, ears burning.

He mutters something about you being beautiful.

About you being the only good thing he’s ever had.

You are not good. You never were. But you smile and kiss his knuckles like he’s your hero anyway.

You’re rotting together.

You’re just smart enough to know it.

You’re pulling him down into the same darkness that hollowed you out years ago.

Making him a little sicker, a little sweeter, a little more yours every day.

It’s not fast.

It’s not violent.

It’s slow.

Tender.

Patient.

Like two animals bleeding out together in a beautiful, quiet room.

And when he finally realizes it—

when he finally sees that he can't breathe without you—

it’ll already be too late.

You’ll already have your leash tied around his throat.

And he’ll be smiling through the choke.

It starts stupidly.

A guy you barely know—some loudmouth from your psych class—tells you you’re “too pretty to be walking home alone.”

Offers you a ride.

Winks at you.

It’s harmless.

A mosquito buzzing in your ears.

You giggle, play dumb, say "thank you."

Smile sweet and empty.

Because you know he’s there.

You know Conner is there.

Watching.

You always know.

You feel the air shift before you even see him.

Conner’s behind you the next second, tall and tense, his whole body coiled tight like a spring about to snap.

He doesn’t touch you.

He doesn’t say anything.

But the look he gives the guy—

the sheer, crushing rage behind it—

it’s enough.

The guy blanches.

Mumbles something about being late.

Slinks away like a kicked dog.

You stand there.

Batting your lashes.

Feigned confusion painting your face.

"Conner?" you whisper, small and sweet, reaching up to touch his arm.

"What's wrong?"

He looks down at you—jaw flexing, fists curling and uncurling at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You can feel the way he’s trembling.

Not fear.

Not sadness.

Something worse.

Something primal.

"Don’t," he grinds out. His voice rough. Raw. "Don’t ever smile at guys like that."

Your breath hitches.

Soft. Perfect. Vulnerable.

"I—I didn’t mean to upset you," you whisper.

You sound like you're about to cry.

You even let your bottom lip tremble.

And that's it.

That’s what breaks him.

Conner’s hands snap out—

one gripping your waist, the other fisting into your hair—

and he drags you into him like he’s drowning.

The kiss he slams in your lips isn’t sweet.

It isn’t careful.

It’s filthy.

Starving.

Possessive.

Like he’s trying to mark you.

Bite you.

Make you bleed love for him.

He kisses you like he hates you.

Like you’ve ruined him.

And you—

you kiss him back.

Soft and syrupy at first.

Little whimpers into his mouth.

Clutching at his shirt like you don’t know how to breathe without him.

You give him everything.

Everything he wants—

everything he’s too scared to ask for.

You let him take.

Let him devour.

When he finally pulls back, you're both panting.

Your lips are swollen, your eyes big and glassy.

Conner’s chest heaves like he just fought a war.

His pupils are blown wide—so dark you can barely see the blue anymore.

He looks wrecked.

Broken open.

He stares at you like you hung the stars just to have something pretty to look at while you destroyed him.

"I—"

He chokes on it.

The words are too big, too much.

You reach up.

Cup his stupid, handsome face in your gentle hands.

Smile that soft, doomed smile you know he can’t survive.

"It’s okay," you whisper.

"I like you too, Conner."

You don't.

You never did. Not really.

Not the way that he loves you.

But he doesn’t know that.

And he never will.

Because he falls to his knees right there.

Buries his face against your stomach like a man praying to a god that doesn’t hear him.

And you—

you just thread your fingers through his hair, humming sweetly.

Like a mother comforting her sick little boy.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[itdontmatter283472374]

What are we?

Soooo… I’m new to this whole writing thing. I just had foot surgery and’m bored, so I figured I’d give this a shot. I’ve always liked Pazzi fics, so why not try writing one? I’m open to any advice you’ve got. And if I mess up any basketball terminology, feel free to call it out—I play soccer, so this isn’t exactly my area. 

“Az!” Paige called from down the hall of her best friend’s house.

COVID had ruined her senior year—playoffs: canceled. Graduation: canceled. The only thing that made the time bearable was getting to spend it with her best friend.

“Yes, Paige?” Azzi responded, trying not to sound annoyed. But no matter her tone, she could never truly be annoyed with Paige.

“Wanna go shoot some hoops?” Paige asked, a grin spreading across her face—one reserved only for Azzi.

“No… my knees have been bothering me,” Azzi said reluctantly, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on her leg.

Paige hesitated. “Come on, bro. Please?” Her grin lingered as she tried to read her friend’s face.

“It’s been hurting all week,” Azzi replied, pausing. “Actually… I’m about to head out with some friends. If that’s okay?”

She glanced at Paige, already knowing the answer wasn’t going to land well.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Paige asked, taken aback.

“I forgot,” Azzi said quickly, her tone unintentionally sharp. She immediately softened. “I can stay back if you want.”

Paige shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m just gonna hang with Jose. It’s probably good for you to see them—it’s been a while.”

“You sure?” Azzi asked gently.

“Yeah. Have fun,” Paige replied, her voice low, almost emotionless. She turned and left the room quickly, not wanting to let the awkwardness stretch any longer.

Azzi stood there, the silence heavy between them—another layer added to the tension that had been building ever since Paige came to stay a month ago.

The weirdness between them wasn’t new. Paige had always been a little jealous of whoever Azzi spent time with—whether she admitted it or not. Colleen, one of Azzi’s closest friends, had picked up on it early, though she never pushed. She just chalked it up to how close the two girls were.

What Colleen didn’t know were the slip-ups—the near-moments—that Azzi and Paige had been having lately.

Still, Azzi walked out the front door and got into her friend’s car, choosing not to mention the earlier conversation with Paige, when discussing what they had throughout the day so far. It would only add fuel to Colleen’s suspicions.

The late afternoon sun beat down through the sunroof, but Azzi wasn’t really focused on her plans. Her thoughts kept circling back to the girl she'd left behind.

Outside, Paige breathed in the smell of fresh mulch as Jose followed her onto the driveway. She couldn’t stop wondering where Azzi was going—and who she'd be with besides Colleen—but she didn’t want to seem possessive. That was a recurring fight lately.

She tried to focus on her shooting form, but her rhythm was off. Brick after brick—until she finally airballed one.

“Paige, what’s going on with you?” Jose asked, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been acting weird since Azzi left.”

Jose didn’t usually comment on the dynamics between the two—Paige was like a sister to him—but today felt different.

“Nothin’. Just tired,” Paige muttered, exhaling hard.

“Well, your shot’s garbage,” Jose deadpanned. A moment passed in silence before he added, “What do you call a basketball player who loves to cook? A slam chef!”

He shot finger guns at her, a goofy smile on his face.

“Bro, shut up,” Paige said, breaking into a reluctant laugh—not at the joke, but at Jose being Jose. He might be getting better at basketball, but his jokes still sucked.

She tossed the ball at him and headed inside, shaking her head, still caught in her own thoughts. Still thinking about Azzi.

Meanwhile, Azzi was trying to enjoy herself. She and Colleen had grabbed froyo and were now wandering around downtown Arlington. They’d run into Blake, Max, and Reid—friends from school.

Colleen was chatting non-stop, but Azzi’s replies were distant.

“I can’t believe we ran into Blake, Max, and Reid. They’ve changed so much in just a couple of months,” Colleen said between bites of her ice cream. “Like, why didn’t you seem interested in the conversation? I thought you liked Reid?”

Azzi barely responded.

“Bro, you’re spacing out again,” Colleen said, her annoyance seeping through.

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about some stuff,” Azzi replied. “And yeah, I liked Reid… but that was December. It’s May now. I guess I just don’t care anymore.”

She looked away, but her mind was still back at home—with the girl she couldn’t stop thinking about.

“Did something happen you’re not telling me about?” Colleen asked, already suspecting the answer.

Azzi sighed. “I mean… yeah. Paige and I had some miscommunication earlier. But it wasn’t anything major.”

Colleen raised an eyebrow. “Look, I’m not trying to be that friend—especially after what you told me before—but you two are a little... weird.”

Azzi shot her a look, already bracing for what was coming.

“I know you keep saying you and Paige are just best friends,” Colleen continued, “but the way you talk about her? The way you act around each other? It’s different. I try not to bring it up, I really do—but every time you tell me about these little moments or arguments, I start wondering if I’m lying to you by pretending I don’t notice something more.”

Azzi looked away, her throat tightening. She knew Colleen wasn’t trying to be malicious—but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

“Colleen, bro… it’s not like that, I swear,” she said quickly. “Paige is about to head off to college, and with COVID messing everything up, I think she’s just looking for some stability right now. And I haven’t been the best at communicating lately. That’s all it is.”

But even as the words left her mouth, Azzi wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince—Colleen or herself.

“Alright, if you say so,” Colleen said, pausing for a beat. “I’m not gonna keep bothering you about it—as long as you promise to actually act like yourself for the rest of the day. I was really looking forward to hanging out with you.”

Azzi managed a small smile, grateful for the shift in tone.

They wandered through the downtown area, slipping into light, mostly meaningless conversations—about senior year, what color dresses they might wear to homecoming, or which college Azzi was thinking about committing to in the coming months.

But it all felt like noise to Azzi.

Everything was starting to feel overwhelming. College decisions, the weight of expectations, the looming reality that Paige would be at college. She tried to appear calm—confident, even—especially around Paige, Colleen, and everyone else. But inside, she was struggling.

The truth was, she didn’t know how this next year would go.

She had only recently started to feel strong again after missing her entire junior season with a torn ACL. Now, as her senior season approached, the pressure to perform—to prove she was back—felt heavier than ever.

And while everyone talked about prom and parties and plans for the future, all Azzi could think about was how quickly everything was changing.

When Azzi got home, she found Paige stretched out on the couch, watching basketball highlights—trying, as usual, to fill the void left by the canceled NBA season.

“P,” Azzi said softly, stepping into view.

Paige glanced over her shoulder. “Wassup?”

“What’re you up to?”

“Just watching some hoops. Nothing much,” Paige replied. “How was hanging with Colleen?”

Their words felt stiff—off. Anyone who knew them would have said the same thing. These weren’t their usual conversations. It wasn’t like them to tiptoe around each other like this.

But lately, that’s exactly what they’d been doing—tiptoeing around conversations, pretending things weren’t weird when they very clearly were.

“It was good,” Azzi said, answering Paige’s earlier question. “You wanna run to Chipotle? My parents are at my grandparents’ house.”

She was hoping for some space away from her brother—and maybe a chance to actually talk.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Am I driving?” Paige asked, already knowing the answer.

“Duh, bighead,” Azzi replied, smirking as she wandered out of the room.

SZA was playing softly through the speakers of Azzi’s car. Paige tapped her fingers lightly against the center console, in rhythm with the music. Azzi watched her hand, her gaze lingering longer than she meant to. The lyrics faded into the background as her mind drifted—back to last week.

Flashback

It was a late spring night, and boredom had completely taken over.

Azzi and Paige had been cooped up inside all day—cycling between the PlayStation, random snacks, and half-hearted basketball drills in the driveway. Everything felt repetitive.

When the clock hit 10 p.m., Paige finally sat up with an idea.

“Hey, wanna go for a ride?” she asked, glancing over at Azzi.

“I’m tired, and my parents are definitely gonna say no,” Azzi replied, already annoyed.

“Come on, dude,” Paige urged.

“No,” Azzi said firmly, but without much force.

“Please?” Paige added, flashing the overly innocent smile she knew Azzi could never say no to.

Azzi rolled her eyes but caved. “Fine. But you’re asking.”

They padded down the hallway toward her parents’ room. Azzi peeked in first—they were still awake—before Paige stepped in, leading the charge.

“Hey,” she began casually, “can we go for a drive?”

Katie, Azzi’s mom, didn’t even look up from her phone. “I don’t know, guys. It’s late.”

“Pleeeaaase,” Paige pleaded, dragging the word out dramatically. “We’ve been stuck inside all day, and we’re 18 and 17 now. Technically we’re allowed out this late.”

She put just enough charm and confidence into the tone to break Katie’s resistance.

Katie finally looked up and sighed. “Fine. Just don’t be out too long.”

Paige grinned, victorious. Azzi just shook her head, hiding a smile.

In the car now, windows down, sunroof open, old Justin Bieber tracks pouring through the speakers. Paige sang along—loudly and off-key—throwing occasional glances at Azzi. Azzi couldn’t help but chuckle at the blonde, her energy infectious even in the stillness of the night.

It was nice, Azzi had to admit. Moments like this reminded her why she treasured their friendship so much. But underneath the laughter, something heavier lingered.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen once Paige left for college. What their friendship would look like when they weren’t sharing the same roof, the same routines. What new people Paige might meet—new friends, maybe even new relationships. And where that would leave her.

Paige noticed the change in Azzi’s expression—how her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.

“Hey, what’s up?” Paige asked, reaching over to tap Azzi’s shoulder. She turned the volume down, snapping Azzi out of her thoughts.

“Oh, nothing,” Azzi said, forcing a small smile, eyes shifting quickly back to the road.

“You sure?” Paige pressed gently, concern etched in her face now.

Azzi hesitated looking out at the window. The wind pushed through the open windows, but it didn’t cool the warmth rising in her chest.

“I don’t know…” she finally said, voice low. “It’s just… everything feels like it’s changing so fast.”

Paige stayed quiet, waiting.

“I’m scared,” Azzi admitted. “About senior year. About the season. About you leaving. I know I act like I’ve got it all together, but I don’t. I missed my whole junior year, and now I have to come back and somehow prove I’m still that player. And then there’s you—going off to college, making new friends, living this whole other life without me in it every day.”

She blinked a few times, trying to hold it together. “I don’t know what it’s gonna be like… when you're not around.”

Paige reached over slowly and rested her hand on Azzi’s thigh. It wasn’t dramatic or showy—just steady. Reassuring.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice threading through the quiet hum of the car. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay, yeah—I’m going to college. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving you. You’re not just some high school friend to me. You’re… more than that.”

Azzi turned her head slightly, meeting Paige’s eyes for a brief second—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.

Paige gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “You’re gonna crush this year. And I’ll be in the stands whenever I can, screaming louder than your mom.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, the weight in her chest softening just a little. “God, please don’t scream louder than my mom. That’s dangerous.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Paige grinned.

They fell into a comfortable silence again, the road humming beneath them, Justin Bieber faintly playing in the background. But this time, it felt less heavy.

Less uncertain.

End of Flashback

“Dude.” Paige said, looking over at Azzi. “You can't keep dissociating when we go on car rides together.” Paige said, smacking her lips, but she had hidden worry underneath her words. 

“Yea, sorry just thinking about something Colleen said.” Azzi admitted knowing that it would lead to a discussion she did not really have the energy for but she brought it up.

“Yeah… sorry,” Azzi muttered, her eyes fixed ahead. “Just thinking about something Colleen said.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Colleen?”

Azzi sighed, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “She said our friendship is… weird.”

Paige leaned back in her seat, her expression tightening. “Weird how?”

Azzi hesitated, glancing sideways before answering. “She said the way we act around each other isn’t really… just best friend behavior. That we keep doing things and then pretending like nothing happened.”

Paige sat up straighter, suddenly more alert. “Wait. You told her?”

Azzi’s head snapped around. “No! I didn’t tell her anything specific. She’s just not dumb, Paige. She picks up on stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Paige asked quickly, voice sharper now.

Azzi took a breath. “Like… how we keep kissing. Like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing.”

Paige stared at her. “You told her we kissed?”

“I didn’t have to,” Azzi said, voice quiet. “She figured it out. She thinks something’s up between us.”

Paige shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking away.

Azzi’s voice softened. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

Paige didn’t answer.

“I mean…” Azzi continued, her throat dry. “We’ve done other stuff too. And we never talk about it. We just pretend it didn’t happen.”

Silence filled the space between them, heavy and awkward. The only sound was the soft murmur of the music still playing.

Azzi finally added, “Don’t you ever wonder what that means? Or are you just hoping I won’t bring it up?”

Paige’s jaw clenched slightly, but she didn’t look away this time. Her voice was quieter now—unsure, maybe even scared. “I don’t know what it means. I didn’t think we were supposed to… define it.”

Azzi let out a short, breathy laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, maybe we should start.”

[slut-for-free-will]

eltingville club headcannons (x reader)

✿˖˚ ༘𐙚 > // my headcannons for guy in the club + if they were romatic with you. I tried to make it relatively gender neutral on your part, but Bill is written as x fem reader.

wordcount: 4933

rating: medium -> mature-ish (some parts are freaky *cough bill and Peter DiNunzio*)

warnings: unhealthy relationships (ESPECIALLY Bill), themes of child neglect, cursing, misogyny, Bill Dickey, Pete Dinunzio

Jerry

Jerry’s grades are decent, mainly B’s and B+’s, an occasional A.

His parents aren’t really present in his personal life.

Use to get bad anxiety as a kid, especially when his parents fought.

Who am I kidding Jerry still gets heavy anxiety.

Horrible poker face.

Before he even knew your name, the slightest glimpse of you would make his cheeks tingle and butterflies flood his stomach. 

When he’s nervous his palms will HEAVILY sweat (When you first start dating, you can’t hold hands bc they’re lowkey slimy)

His room is clean-ish, no garbage overflowing his trash can or anything, but Jerry’s not very organized.

Papers of loose ideas, DnD dice, pencils, and the occasional figurine or magazine litter the floor.

He also liked eating snacks in his room, but he got lectured by his mom upon getting ants and was forced to stop.

The first time he knew you were coming over he PANICKED.

When you went into his room you were surprised — Jerry didn’t seem like such a clean and orderly person.

His bookshelves are crammed with fantasy books, though (he's been dying to read them, but has trouble focusing on pages of a book; most of the time he vies for watching TV and movies)

Thank god you didn’t open the closet — a flood of figurines, comics, magazines, books, plushies and everything else under the sun would have buried you both.

Speaking of plushies, Jerry sleeps with them. They crowd his bed.

And he didn’t invite you to enter his room, you just sorta stumbled in there accidentally (if you had  waited for an invitation it would never come — he was way too nervous to offer you into his room).

I feel like his love language would be words of affirmation.

As much as live action is cool, Jerry loves 2D animation much more.

Pretty insecure about sharing his ideas for stories and whatnot. He's nervous about getting insulted — even something small is enough to keep him awake at night.

When you first let him tentatively share a new concept for a DnD plot and praise him for it, his brain short circuits.

Now he's way more than just head over heels. He’s like. Soul and mind over physical plane of existence if that makes sense.

He would die for you, is what I’m saying.

If you have any story ideas/paracosms/OCs, he would LOVE to hear you yap abt them. Since you’re both creative, you might just hang out and worldbuild together.

Loves reading high fantasy books to you

If you read to him his heart would explode (I'm not joking) (this also helps him read the books he's been meaning to get to)

Will actually die if you take him to a ren faire. Will fade to dust if you dress up with him.

If you weren’t into DnD, Jerry would want you to get into it SO BADLY. But he would never push you (even offhand interest would make his heart backflip)

Loves to put inside jokes you two share into his DnD plotlines as easter eggs for himself (even if you aren’t at the club meetings 99% of the time)

Speaking of being there…

He doesn’t like it when you hang around the club (or if you’re even in close proximity with those freaks) and absolutely bars you from following him to their sessions.

The closest you’ll get is maybe a walk to Bill’s front porch.

Most of the time, Jerry does anything he can to avoid you and the members of the club interacting.

Despite all your love for each other, he wouldn't try and stick up for you if you were bad-mouthed by the rest of the club members.

Jerry probably wouldn't tell you what they're saying, either.

He gets so scared you'll stop liking him because of his company, maybe become a victim of their attention, or possibly even leave him.

And god forbid if you ever broke up.

He'd fall into a deep spiral of depression, but wouldn’t ask for help or try and get back together.

Jerry’s one to self blame and retreat inwards; every time you'd get into an argument, he would find some way to lay the blame on and/or isolate himself.

You have to apologize first.

Josh

Gets good grades, but has to put in effort. His family values education quite a bit.

Cat person (would probably dress up his cats if he had any)(his family doesn’t have pets).

Blind as a bat without his glasses, and takes good care of them. 

Josh is actually a pretty organized person. His room itself is quite clean, but his desk is cluttered with everything from candy wrappers to half-built figurines.

Uses emoticons instead of emojis.

Listens to podcasts most of the time. In terms of music, he doesn’t really have a set music taste. He says he loves whatever you’re into, though.

On occasion, he’ll stay up late, but Josh is pretty good about having a normal sleep schedule.

Hella scared about opening up personally, but yaps to death about whatever sci-fi thing he’s interested in.

Josh has a few main interests (Star Trek, Star Wars, Stargate, etc.) but beyond that, his outer interests change every week.

One day he’ll be reading a series about warring aliens, the next giving a ted talk on several different space technologies.

Probably reads a lot – and fast, too. (If the club found out about this they’d call him a nerd) (but they’re ALL nerds so that insult doesn’t really go anywhere)

Josh the typa guy to kick his feet and blush into his pillow like an anime girl when thinking about you.

Also the typa guy to think about his parents funeral at 2AM in the morning and start sobbing.

When you first meet, you’re in the library, browsing for a book.

You overhear loud whispers — insults, laughter, and angry comebacks.

As you inch closer, you spot four figures jeering in between the bookshelves. You can’t really recognize them from your spot, hidden amongst the books, but you realize they’re… making fun of someone.

It’s not long before three of them shuffle off, leaving one behind.

You emerge from your place between the shelves, ask if he’s alright.

It’s honest and sweet.

Josh has never been talked to like that.

Soon enough, you’re thriving in his dreams – swooping in to save him from the club’s torment. As time drags on, the club’s appearances in his dreams lessen – instead, it’s just you, you, you.

He asks to hang out often; he’s a quality time fan (can get clingy, expanded upon later)

Josh will get elated if you let him vent – or even just listen to anything he says. All you have to do is just sit there, really.

He’s bothered by comments on his physical appearance, but they don’t typically get to him as much as they used to.

You, on the other hand – your comments would have an effect. He'll brush it off, but think about it later (and by think, I mean have an existential crisis).

Josh gets really insecure when he’s around you.

And he spirals easily; it’s hard for him to keep a cool head.

If you leave him for a moment while hanging out in some public place, a rush of thoughts will flood his head (What if you abandoned him? What if you don’t like him anymore? What if this relationship is just one big joke, and he’s the butt of it?)

You find yourself having to reassure him that your relationship is legit.

Hangouts can be anywhere from your room, to his room, to the park, to honestly even the grocery store.

Prefers being able to see your face — wouldn’t go to a movie theater with you (unless they’re playing some movie he’s really excited to see).

Would love you forever if you gave him a collectible that he’s missing in his collection.

Josh doesn’t get a lot of praise or things he likes in his life – even the smallest passing comment gives him something to smile at for the rest of the week.

He can get really clingy, though. Like SUPER clingy.

He wants to spend as much time as he can with you — every possible moment he has, spending time with you is amongst his top three things of stuff he wants to do.

Josh calls you at least once a day, walks you to every class (even if it makes him late), and wakes you up in the middle of the night through a call or text to ask if you’re ok (he had a dream where you got hurt).

Like Jerry, he doesn’t want you hanging around to the club — but his feelings are way more extreme.

He despises, DETESTS you being anywhere within 100 miles of any of them.

Josh keeps your relationship a secret for as long as possible, and frequently makes up excuses to tell both you and the club to not hang out.

If you end up finding out about the club? Fine! But don’t expect to be invited to any meetings, EVER.

If the club finds out about you… good god.

They’ll probably see if they can get you and Josh to break up, doing anything from spreading rumors to pulling pranks to even staging a “He cheated on you!” scandal.

But you never will break up.

Josh wouldn’t (couldn’t) allow it.

Pete

HOLY MOLY does this boy have BAD BAD BAD grades

Just barely passing his classes, and his parents don’t really care that he’s highkey struggling.

Uses class to mess around, catch up on sleep, or do anything that’s not classwork.

Sometimes has insomnia, other times he’s out like a light and sleeps like a log. No in between.

Complete lack of sleep schedule. Goes to bed anywhere from 11pm to 5am.

I side with the Pete-snores-when-he’s-asleep truthers. He probably mumbles too.

Fan of insect torture as a kid (never grew out of it)

Probably has 5 or 6 siblings and doesn’t get much attention, leading to him locking himself away in his room watching his disgusting movies or hanging out with the club.

Either way, Pete has a lot of free time – the most by far out of the club members.

He likes music he can play loudly (i.e rap and heavy metal).

Won’t do house music, though. He claims “any music that don’t got lyrics ain’t fuck’n music.” 

Has a fake drivers license that says he’s 21 (it’s so obviously fake, though)

Pete relates a lot of things in his daily life to horror movies (i.e stalking through the streets of an unsuspecting neighborhood, the pale streetlights a temporary respite from the shadows that ravage silent suburbia is basically him as Michael Myers about to kill some bimbo bitch)

He could talk at great lengths about various assortments of snacks to eat upon viewing different categories of horror movies for exclusive experiences.

You maybe met on the bus — it was your first day at this new school, and you’re blissfully unaware of all the social workings of .

God when you stepped on that stupid, yellow, loud ass, hot and sweltering tin can on wheels, it was over for you.

Pete laid his beady little eyes on you, he went dead silent, right in the middle of terrorizing the freshmen behind him with his gory recollections of whatever blood-soaked film it was.

When you sat in the bus seat directly in front of him, he lost it.

Did you know who he was? Were you aware the neighborhood horror-porn maniac is sitting behind you? And did you know how mouth-wateringly, drop-dead gorgeous you are?

It was all a downhill tumble from there; Pete heaves himself up as the bus starts moving, making remarks about your physical appearance.

Before long it’s now romantic advances like gifts, confessions, reminders that he knows where you live.

And even if you try and change seats he’ll force his way to sit somewhere near you and continue his odd serenade of you.

So now, with this new obsession, Pete will take “bathroom breaks,” consisting of him strolling down the halls, trying to figure out which classes you have and when.

Soon enough, he’s memorized your entire schedule and will pick spots to wait for you that will ensure you two see each other.

The romantic tension is really getting to him. Is it getting to you?

While you can’t escape Pete in school, he can’t escape you, ever.

You infect his dreams, whisper into every aspect of his life, and Pete can’t even watch a goddamn horrible slasher flick without seeing you in place of the final girl, covered in blood, screeching in terror (before promptly having to rub one out).

Honest to god I have no idea how you two would end up together.

Best guess? You go watch a movie (alone, if this is to play out correctly) and that freak ass club ducks into the theatre, hoping to creep into the seats and watch whatever knockoff film was showing, free of charge.

They can’t see shit as the lights click off and the screen turns black, so somehow Pete ends up filing into the same row as poor, unsuspecting you.

From there? Can’t say; perhaps he notices you before you notice him. Maybe he just stares in disbelief for a moment – I mean it’s you, the person who rules his dreams and his mind (and might possibly like him).

Then maybe he gets a bit bolder, lets his hands to the talking, and you sit there and take it because you know you like him back and then he grabs your chin, rough and hungry, and closes in and the two of you are-

Man, who knows.

Love language? That’s a hard one. I’m thinking “wild card” — you have no idea what he’s gonna do for you and when he’s gonna do it, but whatever it is, it’s thoughtful.

And MY GOD is his room RANCID.

There's like mystery wet spots and piles of trash and dirty clothes everywhere.

And crumpled tissues. Let's not think about those right now.

He doesn’t even bother to clean it the first time you come over either. You just have to stand there awkwardly while Pete rants about this one obscure horror film that copied this other obscure horror film.

His parents don't really ask him to clean his room basically ever, and Pete has ZERO sense of personal hygiene.

Showers like twice a month. Maybe thrice if he can muster up the want.

Pete likes cold showers. He also likes eating ice cream, outdoors, in the middle of winter (“It won’t fuck’n melt!” he insists, knee deep in snow).

OH, and Pete’s not really that nice to you.

Mainly because he thinks it’s great entertainment to have someone to subject his little spurts of malice upon.

But also, because he doesn’t really know how to convey affection — all he’s learned in the romance sector is from a constant bombardment of his… taste in movies.

If you squirm at gore just know one of your dates is gonna be Pete sitting you down and making you watch a movie among his top ten most horrid tapes. Possibly in some secluded area.

And? And? This ANIMAL loves sneaking up behind you and giving you a scare. Constantly.

If you flinch he’ll laugh a bit, but leave you to scowl at him

But let out a noise and jump? GOD he will tease and tease you forever. And it’s guaranteed he’ll spook you more often, too.

Pete does a lot of things to elicit a reaction — commenting on your body, scaring you like mentioned above, saying absolutely profane shit that makes your cheeks heat instantaneously, when he leans in and whispers what he wants to do to you.

And on occasion, he’ll make threats. Just vague,  “I know where you live,” type shit (no duh, you know where he lives too), but sometimes he’ll step a little too far, insinuate a little too much. 

But listen – he’s not all bad. Pete does some nice things for you.

Just bet if you ever get bullied, some nauseating note(s) filled with immensely graphic, highly nauseating threats will be nailed to your terrorizer’s front door (fake blood may be included).

Movie dates are typically at your house (both you and Pete prefer it), but he will outright lie to your parents, and maybe even you, about what movie(s) you’ll be watching.

Sometimes he’ll show up unannounced, banging at your window for you to open up in the middle of the night.

On occasion, when he knows your house is gonna be deserted for a bit, he’ll go into your room and snoop around, maybe just lay on your bed.

But uh… Pete gropes. He really does.

It’s like an addiction; it would be easier to prove what comes after death once and for all than make Pete to get his fucking mitts off you.

He’s also into biting. But much less than groping, thank god.

Pete doesn't care if you're around the club (he actually enjoys seeing everyones reactions, especially Bill's, when he rubs it in their face that he's dating this smoking hot, absolutely stunning human being).

If you were being hit on by another person though, I doubt Pete would get jealous or try to defend you. Hell, he might even like seeing you squirm in discomfort.

The longer your relationship drags on, Pete’s intrusive thoughts regarding you become increasingly more disturbing.

One of these days he’s gonna make these depraved fantasies a reality.

Bill

For some god awful reason he has straight A’s without even trying.

Does his mom care when he brings home yet another test he aced? No.

Bill correlates a lot of subject matter with characters, from comics, plots of shows, or whatever else. He can memorize tons of material with minimal effort, while simultaneously keeping up that think-about-comics-24/7 mindset.

Lazy as hell — never does chores or anything he doesn’t have to.

THE bare minimum guy.

Can’t have any pets because he wouldn’t take care of them; irresponsible to the point he could kill a cactus.

His eyesight isn’t as bad as Josh’s, but still takes the care to clean his glasses and avoid getting them scratched up.

His damaged eyes partially because he read comics after bedtime way too much as a kid, flashlight under the covers and everything.

Master of cutting corners when it comes to anything — speedruns his homework, does every other problem/question if he can get away with it, and can’t be bothered with double checking anything he ever does.

I bet he got night terrors and nightmares when he was little — some of his nightmares still traumatize him to this day.

In terms of hygiene, he’s pretty bad at it (duh). Not as bad as Pete, but still, bad.

Showers only at his mom’s orders (once a week, maybe twice).

Bill’s closet is a big copy and paste fest — nothing disturbs the endless sea of graphic tees, dark colored jeans, and flannel shirts/blazers.

Except that one suit that he wore to some distant relatives funeral when he was thirteen. He hasn’t worn it since, but debates using it for some cosplay.

Bill would subtly violate a person’s boundaries, and then brush it off as a joke when he’s called out.

Going off of my “Bill is smart” headcanon, and how his mom doesn’t care for education, he could have done a lot of things, but the lack of value put on education caused him to not give a shit about going to college or whatnot.

Throwing insults at people, media concepts, anything is a favorite of his.

Will find some way to hate on something, no matter how good it is (too long, too boring, not enough naked women)

On my life Bill listens to Weezer. Probably Radiohead too.

Disclaimer: below is fem!reader x w*lliam. Srry boys and other💔

You gotta be insane to want to date Bill Dickey.

You have to have a complete lack of self worth and respect.

I mean where does the attraction even come from? He’s repulsive, abusive, narcissistic. Who would even like this misogynist? (me me me!)

But you are clueless when you first meet. The school’s big, and you’re not too familiar with everything.

Maybe you haven't seen him getting bullied and shoved around just yet.

You approach him with honest, innocent intentions: you’re lost and need to get to your next class.

“He doesn’t seem like he’s a bad guy” is what you’re thinking when you spot him, leaning against a locker and thumbing through a comic book (oh, how wrong you are!)

So you tap on his shoulder and ask him if he knows which direction Mrs. Green’s English class is.

And of course, Bill takes it as something else – a helpless, normie bitch is interrupting his happy world of imagination, asking him for help (to mock him or throw herself at him, he can’t figure out)

He immediately snaps back, commenting how of course you wouldn’t know where your class is, damn woman.

Maybe he insults you some more, stating how you shouldn’t even be in school anyways, idiotic bimbo.

And how do you react?

You stumble off in shock – blaming your burning face on his degradation and not the fluttering in your gut.

But alas, soon enough you find yourself needing major help on some complex subject, whatever it is, so you ask the teacher if they have any recommendations for tutors.

Of course, Mr. top-of-the-class Bill Dickey is first on his list.

So now you’re being tutored by Bill, whose ego is stoked like an inferno at the chance to not only be around a pretty girl for an hour, but get to basically call her stupid every second of the way.

80% of the time he keeps his distance, the two of you sitting across from each other in a quiet corner of the library, but on occasion, when you just can’t get something right, he will march over there, wrestle the pencil out of your hands, and do it for you (you note to yourself that’s the best way to make Bill come over to you).

Holy shit his face is so red when he’s done leaning over you and mansplaining (fuck, you smell good) and you pretend not to notice, blaming his reddened face on anger, frustration.

But some part of you wonders if he likes you the way you like him.

Soon enough, your tutoring becomes a highlight of your day (same with him, but he’d never admit it).

Truth be told, Bill’s a pretty bad teacher, but he can be really funny, relatable, and at least you’re getting somewhere.

He even introduced you to some good comic series (without him actually knowing, you just picked up a copy of whatever he was reading at your local comic shop. What was it, Moe’s? Bo’s? Either way, everyone was staring at you freakishly from the second you walked in to the second you stepped out.)

Sessions are always in the library, but he fantasizes about taking it further, going to his house or yours.

Sometimes he wonders what your room would look like (by sometimes I mean MANY times).

But Bill despises you.

You are literally ruining his life.

You have no idea what you do to him – always looking so fucking innocent, entirely unaware of how you sink your teeth into his heart every time you smile, wave, say “hi” in the halls.

He didn’t really know what a cocktease was – till he met you.

He can't stop thinking about anything  to do with you; your body, your voice, your lips. The way you laugh at his jokes and not him, how you come back no matter how many times he berates you.

It’s like you own him without even raising a finger.

He finds his grades dropping because he can’t pay attention in the classes you share — he watches you brazenly like some starving dog watching a butcher’s shop.

He gets worse and worse at tutoring you because he’ll lose his train of thought, completely enraptured by the thought of how fucking easy it would be to simply lean in and smash his lips against yours.

For fucks sake, Bill shouldn’t think so much about a girl; you’re just a carbon copy of all the other whores running around this shitty planet.

He, the man, rules you, not the other fucking way around.

But when you show up in his dreams as a seductive member of his crew, spread out and needy for him, his head is whirling and he loses his typically smooth composure (in his fuckass dreams! really?!)

But he wakes up before anything can actually happen, putting him in a foul mood.

He’s shaken out of it when he takes a cold shower.

Now Bill’s simultaneously angry, shameful, and excited whenever he goes to sleep.

If you ever show up for the club, he’ll scream and shout in protest.

And if you somehow worm yourself into a session? GOD it is torture for Bill.

How the hell is he supposed to get anything done when the girl he LOVES hates is sitting right across from him, getting hit on by Pete.

Needless to say, Bill would be a bit more abrasive during that session (partially in hopes you’ll get scared off, but also because he gets so worked up around you)

Please please PLEASE do not confess to Bill.

He would never confess to you either, but that's not the point.

I mean gosh, imagine how BAD it would be:

In the back of the library you’re packing up, just having finished a (now useless) tutoring session.

You blurt that you love him.

You have feelings of romantic attraction towards him.

There's a brief pause that drags on, and on, and you can’t tell if Bill’s gonna reply at all (he's having an internal meltdown; the only reason he’s not blushing is cause he’s sheet white out of shock)

You’re on the verge of running away, moving schools, never showing your face in public ever again when he just says, “yeah.”

Or maybe he just laughs in your face.

Your relationship? More of an ownership, an ego boost for him.

Bill makes you do a lot of things for him, even if he’s more than capable of doing them himself.

But he ensures you don’t stray too far – he wants to see you doing whatever menial task he ordered you to do.

Talks about you incessantly to anyone who will listen.

It’s mainly bragging, though. Even though he treats you like shit, Bill will somehow work your name into every single conversation and club meeting.

And also he WILL beat up anyone who badmouths you (verbally. Bill can't fight for his life)

He’ll also defend you online like crazy (what a sweetheart!), but all with his army of alt accounts.

Hardly even says “I love you,” or anything of the like.

You don’t really go on dates either – Bill just keeps you around and forces you to follow him wherever he goes.

Also HE approaches YOU, not the other way around.

One time you tried to ask if you could hang out and he didn’t speak to you for a few days (didn’t even make himself seen. If you did interact, it’s him making some misogynistic, cruel comment towards you)

Believe me, Bill was probably way more miserable than you were. 

He's a MASSIVE freak for physical touch, and majorly touch starved.

Even thinking about skin on skin contact makes him salivate.

Bill will shiver if your hands simply brushed.

Never holds your hand in public but GOD he wants to. Dreams about it all the time (speaking of dreams, you still show up in them. Every time he wakes up, his sexual frustration grows)

He'd love to just. Lay on you. Whether it be lying face down, head between your tits, or just draped across you, it doesn’t matter.

Either way, his inward battle of misogyny and emotion has to fizzle out sometime soon.

Once you’re finally in a stage in which he’s more comfortable with the idea of having a… “girlfriend,” he’s gonna start touching.

I swear his hands will never leave your body, touching, groping, brushing.

He doesn’t care for hand holding in the romantic sense so much as the he-gets-to-touch-you-and-show-everyone-that-you’re-HIS sense.

Walking through the halls? Hand interlocked with yours. Sitting next to each other in class? Hand on your thigh. Standing side by side at Joe’s? Probably has his arm draped across your shoulders or resting on your hip.

And Bill likes unexpectedly grabbing you.

HARD.

You’ll be walking side by side in a public space and his fingers will just sink into your flesh with enough force to bruise (this freak gets so turned on if you squeak or squeal in reaction)

I have no idea what compels you to stay with him.

If you guys fight (probably often), he's never gonna say sorry. He’s definitely one of those people who will never admit they’re wrong

He's always gonna find some way to shift the blame on you.

But maybe it’s the fact that he's the only person that you have. He’s isolated you from your friends without you even noticing, and hasn't even realized what a wreck your life is now.

Break ups end with you or Bill crawling back to apologize to one another. 

Mostly you. Almost always, it’s you.

[kxsagi]

ok i'm literally about to rip my head off instg. I'm asking because I LOVE your writing, but does anyone remember a ff with Kaiser with multiple trigger warnings (no NSFW) with reader who ran away from home and met him while she was rummaging through the garbage for food? That was the lore or something like that, ISTG I'M GOING INSANE BECAUSE I WAS STARTING TO LOVE IT AND IF SOMEONE CAN FIND IT I MIGHT MARRY THEM. Please let's help each other 🙏

“𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐩”

a/n: girl i’mma be so honest… i have no idea which fic this is and i’ve never read it 😭

but since you really wanna find it… and i like the plot idea… i figured i would write my own version

but if anyone finds the original, pls comment or message me their @ so i can tag them and credit them! 

(art credits go to jinxx_yu on X)

tw: child neglect, poverty, homelessness, implied abuse, food insecurity, emotional distress

you’re ten when you meet him. and you haven’t eaten in two days. 

it’s early morning, still foggy with dew, and the back alley behind the bakery is quiet, save for the soft rustle of your hands digging through the bin. you’re small enough to go unnoticed, quick enough to run if you’re not. but your legs feel heavy today. slow. your stomach cramps with every movement, and your fingers are shaking so bad you almost drop the stale muffin you find. 

you’re about to shove it into your mouth when a voice says, “hey.” 

you spin around, heart in your throat. 

a boy stands there. not much older than you. probably your age, even. but taller. sharper. he’s not wearing a shirt, just black sweatpants a little too big for his slim figure. he doesn’t look scared. doesn’t look mean, either. just curious. 

you narrow your eyes. “what do you want?” 

he remains calm, hands resting in his pockets. “nothing. just… i come here, too.” 

you blink. “to… dig?” 

he shrugs. “sometimes they throw out the ones that are only a little old. if you get here early enough, they’re not soggy yet.” 

you stare at him for a beat. and then you look down at the muffin in your hand. 

“… you want half?” you offer, quiet. 

he’s shocked. you’re too bright for someone living like this. 

“you serious?” 

you break the muffin in two, handing him the bigger half. 

“you’re weird,” he says, taking it. 

“so are you.” 

the two of you sit on the curb, eating in silence. crumbs fall into your laps. he tells you his name is michael, but he says it with an accent (mee-kha-el) and then adds, “but i prefer kaiser.” 

“why?” you ask. 

he shrugs again. “just… sounds cooler.” 

you snort. “okay, kaiser.” 

he grins a little, and it makes your chest feel warm. 

you learn a lot about him that morning. like how he hates the rain because of how fast it soaks his already-worn-out shoes. and how his dad makes everything he does a punishment. how sometimes he climbs on top of the bus stop just to feel above it all. 

you tell him you ran away because home didn’t feel like home. you don’t give details in the moment. you don’t need to. he doesn’t ask. 

“we’re kinda the same,” he says, picking at a loose thread on his waistband. “like… like nobody wanted us. so we had to want ourselves.” 

you glance at him. it’s the first time anyone’s ever said something like that to you. something that feels true. 

you nod. “yeah. we have to be our own people.” 

he holds out a pinky. “so let’s promise.” 

“promise what?” 

“that we’ll find a way out. not just survive. like… really live. better than them. better than this.” 

your throat burns. not from hunger this time. 

you hook your pinky with his. “promise.” 

𐙚

years later, you’re standing in the world’s loudest stadium. confetti rains gold. his name echoes across the world. 

but michael kaiser only sees you. 

you’re at the edge of the field, eyes glassy, mouth trembling with a smile. the same way you looked when you shared half a muffin with him behind a bakery all those years ago. 

he doesn’t hesitate, he jumps the barrier, running straight into your arms. 

“we made it,” he breathes, medal warm between your chests. 

you nod, laughing through tears. “yeah. from trash bins to trophies.” 

he kisses you like a promise kept. 

and when he lifts the world cup over his head, he looks at the cameras, the crowds, the sky, but smiles only at you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[physalian]

Said this before but I had to beta read a terrible book set at some point in Ancient Greece and there was this really dramatic moment where the flaky male love interest, when confronted with his horny girlfriend thinking he has commitment issues, wailed and went “I’m just asexual!!!”

I think I busted out laughing. I did not give a professional beta read at all that manuscript was hot garbage and an insult to asexuality to boot.

But as somebody who writes non-contemporary, queernormative fantasy, that isn’t set on earth as we know it… it’s really, really not hard to just not use those terms.

I’ve cornered myself a little bit because I’m really light on cursing and profanity, so there are some layers of heavy implication where I could be more explicit, but I have yet to see anyone complaining or confused that I don’t clearly stamp characters’ sexualities on their foreheads. I did have someone confused and annoyed by my autistic character… but that just means I did my job correctly.

Especially in a queernormative setting (and we should have more of these anyway) all these terms wouldn’t exist anyway. There is no word for ‘gay’ if ‘gay’ isn’t seen as any different than ‘straight’ without stigma or prejudice. Even if you did have a character want to specify “yeah I only court men” you can either make up a label or just have them state their preferences.

But also.

Consider that you have a setting where characters have no idea what their sexuality is anyway. Especially if they’re like my asespec characters in an allonormative world. Even in this world, sexuality is hard to pin down and that’s why there’s a million labels. It’s okay for your characters to not know, or to have a general idea but get stuck on conditions where their preferences might change, or just doubt themselves for whatever reason.

Also also, forcing the writer to have the character explain their sexuality without naming it will show right away whether this is a Diversity Checklist inclusion or someone who actually understands what they’re writing and is writing a person who happens to have a given sexuality and not “the gay character”.

Cause that manuscript? Awful. He was ace only because the straight writer said so. Show don't tell right here. Prime example.

The queer experience is as much being able to proudly state who you are as it is going “fuck I don’t know, I just know I’m not this.”

I dislike the inclusion of a lot of modern Queer Rep Terminology in spec fic (fantasy more than sci fi) on basically aesthetic grounds. But also on to be slightly more principled about it, I feel like forcing the writers to actually describe their characters' identities and sexualities without recourse to a labelled bucket they can just slap and say 'yknow, this!' would be very artistically fruitful.

[wnightingales]

it’s wednesday, you know what that means!! here have some snippets of the hangman poem i’m working on!

[platoapproved]

armand + preparing to tell louis about his past

[sugar-and-spite]

i hope it's ok to add onto this? (trans & autistic person with a spin in harry potter; ftr i agree with everything op said. just drop it.)

BUT: you also asked if engaging with the franchise non-monetarily would be harmful

media doesn't exist in a vacuum. you always get it from somewhere (even if you're pirating). with harry potter in particular, there's a very high chance that whoever you're getting the media from is going to take your engagement with it as a tell that you're on Their Side (that is to say, a terf).

there's also the question of social media (and fanworks also tie into this). if you pirate hogwarts legacy and post about it on social media, that's going to be seen by others, including terfs, and they'll think you're one of them. any trans people that see it will probably no longer think you're safe. (and also as op pointed out, the game itself is just garbage, from what i've heard, and full of white nationalist and antisemitic messages.)

as far as fanworks - you have to think about whose fanworks you're engaging with. older fanworks can be hard to tell if they were made by a terf or not, but what about ones made in the last few years? who do you think is still engaging with the fandom now, and making fanworks for it? and what messages might those fanworks have, based on who created them? and even for older fanworks - using ao3 as an example, if you read a fanfic, the hits go up. if you leave kudos or a comment, those counters go up. even if this is all done anonymously, that's still visible engagement that others can see - and it can be used by malicious parties to gauge interest in harry potter as a franchise.

the tldr of all this is that op is very correct - it's not worth it. it's far safer to just drop the franchise as a whole, at the very least until such time as jkr is dead and gone and can't use the franchise to fund her political agenda. it can be really hard to do! (especially for someone like me with a special interest.) but ultimately, any form of engagement, even non-monetary engagement, still indirectly supports jkr and directly makes trans people feel less safe. my safety and the safety of my trans friends and family are more important to me than my special interest. you have to come to your own conclusions on what is or isn't worth it for you

Ok so I’ve had this question for a while and I feel like you’ll be able to give me a good answer. I understand that we’re absolutely not supposed to support anything JKR does monetarily and I never intend to do so. However is engaging with Harry Potter media *at all* also something I should not do or is it only things that give her money?

Like, would there be anything wrong with me playing Hogwarts Legacy if I pirated it? Is fanfiction and fan art ok to consume? Or is engaging with the IP at all going to be harmful in a way that I don’t see atm?

Thank you for your time!

I don't really think a cis person is the right person to ask about this, but I also know that trans people are sick to death of having to field these questions so I'll do my best to answer this, if everyone who reads my answer will promise me that you will NOT use anything I say in this post as an annoying argument against a trans person who has a different opinion on the matter. Remember whose opinions are actually important here.

And look, number one, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Nobody can stop you. If you, in yourself, in your soul, feel morally comfortable consuming Harry Potter by some convoluted method of Ethical Consumption™, then go and do that, and own it, and have the strength to be judged for your decisions.

Trans people might not trust you - hell, I'll probably not trust you either. They might get angry at you, and criticize you, or roll their eyes and call you a fucking loser. If you have the moral conviction that what you are doing is right, and that you are acting in accordance with your beliefs and you are not doing harm, then stand by that conviction and face the consequences. Have that strength of character.

But if you feel the need to go around posting and arguing that it's unfair, that you shouldn't be judged, that you should get to be a special exception and people are unreasonable when they get mad at you... then that is evidence, proof positive, that you are a fucking loser. That you are cowardly, and you don't actually believe that what you are doing is right, you just want the world to affirm your fragile ego while you enjoy your little treats.

To be clear, I am not accusing you of doing this (you seem to just earnestly be asking for guidance), but there's a hell of a lot of people who do do this, and you don't want to be one of them.

So that's number one. Do whatever the fuck you want, and face the consequences with a spine.

Number two is... just fucking drop it. That is my earnest advice to you. Just fucking drop Harry Potter. They are children's books from the early 2000s, they just are not that fucking good or important. The Hogwarts Legacy game is live service slop; the movies are passable at best and their quality comes from the actors being better than the source material. Just drop it. Harry Potter has nothing to offer that you can't get elsewhere from better media with better authors, or problematic authors who have good grace to at least be dead.

Don't waste your life thinking about complicated ways to circumvent the moral problem of JK Rowling's rancid transphobic hate-aura at the center of the franchise, don't waste your finite time on Earth trying to thread that stupid needle. Harry Potter isn't worth this. Rowling is old, and shriveling from hate and mold fumes, at the very least just wait for her to fucking die, and for her political project to fail, before you pick that world back up again.

I speak as someone who read the first book at age 11, hyperfixated on relating to Harry, and whose entire cultural life was consumed by the franchise for over a decade. It is not worth it. You don't need it, you don't need the stress of trying to navigate how or whether to engage with it ethically. You almost certainly have an enormous backlog of other books, games, movies and TV shows you've been meaning to get around to, so just go do that instead. I promise you it will be infinitely more rewarding, and infinitely less compromised by stress and guilt and cognitive dissonance.

And while you're at it, send some money to a trans charity and go scream invectives at a transphobic politician some time.

[gay-otlc]

This is a take I've seen fairly often- that trans men & mascs only think they experience transandrophobia because they refuse to accept that what they're experiencing is misogyny.

It's also a completely ridiculous take. The fact that trans men/mascs are targeted by misogyny is a fundamental part of transandrophobia theory. Trans men/mascs, and others who regularly discuss transandrophobia, emphasize over and over again the ways in which trans men/mascs experience misogyny. For example, the idea that they are women and therefore are too stupid and brainwashed to be trusted about their genders, or the sense of entitlement to trans men/mascs' bodies (how dare you ruin your perfect breasts, how dare you transition in a way that makes you unable to carry children, how dare you not be the beautiful woman i want you to be).

In fact, the people who deny that trans men/mascs experience misogyny tend to be the same people who argue against the concept of transandrophobia. They insist that trans men receive male privilege, and in fact actually benefit from misogyny rather than suffer from it.

When trans men/mascs point the ways that they are affected by misogyny, they are accused of spreading TERF rhetoric (as though acknowledging the ways in which people who were assigned female at birth are oppressed automatically means you believe in "sex consciousness" and "afab unity" against anyone assigned male at birth"), or accused of implying that trans women aren't affected by misogyny (they absolutely are, the belief that trans men and women can't both be affected by misogyny stems from oppositional sexism)

All this to say: The people who talk about transandrophobia are well aware that trans men/mascs suffer from misogyny, and aren't denying this out of dysphoria or internalized misogyny- they aren't denying this at all. The people who deny that trans men/mascs suffer from misogyny are the people who believe transandrophobia doesn't exist.

And, transandrophobia isn't "just misogyny." Misogyny is a crucial component of transandrophobia- again, no one who talkes about transandrophobia is denying this- but not the only component.

Trans men/mascs being denied access to gynecological healthcare (that cis women are able to access) because they appear to be men, or have their gender legally changed to male isn't "just misogyny."

Trans men/mascs to losing their friends, support, and abuse and mental health resources when they come out and transition, or reach a point of being "too masculine," isn't "just misogyny".

The belief that going on testosterone will make trans men/mascs dangerous and violent, and the negative rhetoric about bottom surgery, isn't "just misogyny."

Being called a gender traitor and accused siding with the enemy and only transitioning to gain male privilege isn't "just misogyny."

Trans men/mascs being impregnated specifically as a method of forcing them to detransition isn't "just misogyny."

Choosing to use a women's bathroom (either due to safety concerns or transphobic laws) and being kicked out or assaulted for looking male isn't "just misogyny."

Trans men/mascs getting violently attacked because "if you want to be a man so bad, I'll beat you up like one" isn't "just misogyny."

People who talk about transandrophobia very much recognize that trans men/mascs experience misogyny (and are trying to get people who deny transandrophobia to recognize this as well), and there are aspects of transandrophobia that go beyond "just misogyny." Neither of these things contradict each other. In conclusion, "'transandrophobia' is just misogyny but transmascs don't want to admit it" is completely false all around, so I wish it wasn't such a commonly held belief.

[khaotunq]

Khaotung Thanawat as Bison (The Heart Killers, 2024-2025)

[paesagex]

Shimura Koutaro and wasted occasions for depth within My Hero Academia

Thinking about Koutaro Shimura one day a realization suddenly hit me. If Gran Torino and All Might fully believed for five whole years that All for One was dead, but neither knew of Koutaro’s and his family's tragic passing in a “mysterious Villain Attack”, that means that they never tried to get in touch with him.

That’s not a big revelation, we already knew that, but the more I thought about the implications of this choice, the more fundamentally wrong it felt.

There was one sole reason Koutaro was sent away from his mother, and that was to protect him from Afo. but once Afo was “dead”, there were plenty of good reasons to try to look for him.

Out of minimum decency, Koutaro deserved at the very least an apology and an explanation for his abandonment. He also deserved to know that the death of both his parents had been avenged, as the man that is behind all his family’s trouble was believed to be dead. Besides, was Koutaro even ever informed of Nana’s death? If she tinkered with the documentation, it would mean that there was no legal proof that Koutaro was her son. Therefore, no government official would know to notify him.

One may counteract that they tried but failed, but that’s a weak argument.

Koutaro was a successful businessman who likely had a lot of social connections, and his name wasn’t even changed. All Might, with all his resources, should have been able to find out anything that Afo, the guy who Koutaro was supposed to be hidden from, could.

The motto of this story is “Plus Ultra”.

If it is the right thing to do, you should put the whole of yourself in achieving your goal, no matter how difficult.

Therefore, All Might and Gran Torino, thematically speaking, have no excuses to not have tried to make things right with Koutaro. Even if, let’s say, Afo had managed to make the whole ordeal of the Shimura’s mysterious deaths go mediatically unnoticed, the heroes aren’t excused from their inaction.

Or rather, the narrative that established this theme isn’t excused from not calling this out.

THE WEAKENING OF THE NARRATIVE'S OWN MORALS

In fact, this last consideration is really my main point. This essay is titled “wasted opportunities,” not “heroes suck,” after all.

The problem with this oversight from the two heroes isn’t really that it’s a clear show of neglect towards a man that lost his childhood innocence because of the choices heroes made for him.

It’s that they’re never called out about it.

Making characters mess up, make bad choices and ending up hurting others is not bad writing at all, actually it is very good. This shows that they’re complex and have multiple facets, and that their actions have consequences within the story, which is what makes them well written!

However, when the narrative fails to acknowledge bad, hurtful choices, especially if it is trying to frame a character as a “good guy”, then it creates inconsistency.

All Might’s arc is one of deconstruction, where he’s supposed to go from A, an untouchable idol, to B, a man with flaws and sins. However, this example I’m bringing up and many other ones people pointed out over the years shows that his arc really goes from A, to B, and then back to A again. The story never fully dives into all the things All Might could have been criticized for, it is afraid to touch upon Deku’s idolization of him.

Despite my opinion in the matter being that Koutaro and his right to know should be mainly Gran’s responsibility, as he was involved personally in the decision to abandon him, All Might is a much more important character, and should be challenged harder.

Of course though they’re both left off the hook, All Might to protect Deku’s moral integrity and refusal to question his idol, Gran because he’s specifically thought out as a stagnant old fashioned hero who represents the suppressive justice system which Deku was supposed (and failed) to surpass.

Letting the matter of these two heroes just leaving a presumably still alive man unaware of the reasons behind a huge injustice imposed on him when he was just a child makes them look bad, but not in a good sense. They seem indifferent. The fact that Koutaro was already dead by the point of Afo’s “head massage” is irrelevant. It’s the fact that they never even think about making things right with him that counts.

Heroes neglected Koutaro when they decided that his right to have a parent was less important than fighting Afo, and they just kept neglecting him even after they believed the fight was over.

WHY THIS CHOICE (in my opinion)

I thought about it, I tried to find a reasonable explanation as to why Horikoshi would just pretend this whole deal wasn’t there. And the only one I could come up with is the same one I reached in trying to explain myself why nobody ever seemed to look into Shigaraki’s past once his identity as a Shimura was revealed:

Horikoshi had already planned the whole Afo/Ofa psychic connection and wanted that to be the way Deku grew any interest in understanding Shigaraki.

All Might and Gran Torino looking for Koutaro would have uncovered part of the mystery behind Shigaraki too early, while the author wanted the protagonist to be able to look directly into Shigaraki’s heart through the power of One for All, the Quirk Created to Save.

However, as many pointed out before me, the last arc and Deku’s newfound interest in helping villains feels incredibly rushed, his empathy forced, which is frustrating since there was, through the whole time of the story, a huge pile of information just lying there gathering dust that the characters had tons of good reasons to look into and be interested in.

MISTAKES AND USING THEM TO BUILD A STRONGER STORY

I fully believe that the story building would have worked better if Deku’s interest in Shigaraki had been gradually built from the start, and Koutaro was the key to achieve this.

Heroes are “forbidden” from focusing too much on the Shimura tragedy because that would ruin the story’s strong plot twists and tragic flashbacks, which are one of MHA’s main strong qualities, one might say. However, this isn’t a true problem.

In fact, if you think about it, making so that All Might was aware of Koutaro’s and his family gruesome death would have created 1) foreshadowing to Shigaraki’s identity reveal, 2) added weight to his shoulders, challenging not any hero, but the Symbol of Peace himself to face the consequences of his neglect directly, and 3) at first, it would have made the assumption that Shigaraki was the one to kill his family even more horrifying.

If we as readers had been aware of the level of violence that the death of the Shimuras involved before Shigaraki’s flashbacks, we would have been lead to believe, just as any character who would have bothered to do any research about them, that they were a perfectly normal, loving family that couldn’t possibly have deserved this tragic fate. Making Shigaraki, who is said by Afo to have killed them, look like an innate psychopath.

For these reasons, the emotional investment of Shigaraki’s flashbacks in the My Villain Academia arc would not have been undermined at all, actually it would have strengthened it, as in this case, they would work both as an explanation of how Shigaraki was manipulated from childhood by Afo and it would unmask an impression of superficial happiness and perfection, one of Mha’s big themes.

Moreso, a gradual investigation through the whole story on the main Villain’s past would, as we already said, have created a more earned interest from the protagonist, but it would have also… made a lot of sense logistically.

His Quirk was known, so was his real surname, by this point the fact that the police never connected the dots and didn’t manage to find his old neighbours, kindergarten teachers, anyone who could have testified that Tenko used to be perfectly normal and even exceptionally gentle before he was taken in by Afo is just a huge, unjustifiable plot hole.

CONCLUSION

Keeping All Might and Gran Torino so disinterested of Koutaro’s and his family’s fate is both a bad choice in moral consideration and, because of the way it is (not) handled, in writing, just as the gaping black hole that is the nonexistent investigation on Shigaraki when there was plenty of information.

The Shimuras are not only amongst the biggest tragedies of this story, they’re a missed opportunity for a fully deep exploration of the story’s themes. One of many, unfortunately.

One that fully reflects all the things that make MHA a hypocritical, double standard narrative that parrots its desire to uncover cycles of pain and violence and hold society accountable but then never fully commits to its message.

Koutaro and Shigaraki, father and son, led sad lives, neglected by the people who should have protected them and therefore becoming easy prey for Afo, and then died horribly without this sadness ever being really acknowledged, the people responsible never expressing their guilt appropriately.

There was no improvement between their two generations, Deku’s teachers didn’t manage to be a good example to the new Symbol of Peace by facing their mistakes honestly.

My Hero Academia presents the tragedies of the Shimuras as ways to uncover cycles of violence and societal neglect, when it is actually using them to create empty emotional engagement that isn’t used to add depth to the story and doesn’t even reach a real resolution.

To put it simply, they’re wasted.

[vaarians]

Can I add something to this?

(As someone who has been accused of this in the past and it caused me to spiral into a depressive episode that I could barely pull myself out of.)

I was accused because of the frequency of my posting. This was an anon as well, on this app. And I wanted to say something so bad, but I just cried because my work is so precious to me. I have honed my craft for many years. I've been doing this since I was nine before AI, before I even had a laptop and just a notebook.

I spend hours researching, reading, annotating. My husband has to stop me sometimes because he knows it sends me into mania (I have Bipolar I and I'm also AuDHD.) I just do not have an off switch when in mania, and I write, so much that sometimes I don't play with my son and I'm just sit on my phone typing until my arthritis makes me give up.

My frequency of posting sometimes is due to my BP1, I'm in mania and my brain just keeps spiraling until I'm yelling, screaming, and freaking out on everyone who disturbs me. It's not fun trust me. But my meds help and I take breaks now and I breathe but sometimes I just can't get through it.

It takes so much out of me to write the way I do. To research. To create these characters and hone my knowledge on the canon ones. That it hurts to be accused of cheating. My frequency is not cheating. My frequency is not AI.

This was none of that anon's business, and it hurt so bad because most of what I have written was in mania, in such a terrible time for me that to be accused of cheating just made me cry. Made me spiral till I privated everything.

So anon's who do this both here and on AO3 think about the person on the other end, think about how this might affect the writer. Understand we are all different and just because you have the ability to use an AI detector does not mean it is right, it is essentially an AI as well. Or that the frequency of someone posting deems them using AI to churn things out.

I've read AI works that are PUBLISHED and they are utter garbage.

This is an above comment made by a guest on my latest chapter of A Ship Of Dreams. I've been accused of using AI to write it.

To be accused of cheating when you create something you love is so disheartening and horrible.

To anyone who has read my stuff, I swear on my life that I would NEVER cheat. I put time and effort into writing something that I enjoy and this person who has accused me of this has really put a dampener on my joy.

The comment has been reported but it's still horrible to be accused of this when I've spent so much time writing Elrondriel fics.

I woke up this morning, and this is what i see. I've never been accused of cheating before. It doesn't appeal to me as a person and I've worked hard finding time to write chapters when I've been busy with my job the past week or so.

I don't really know what the point of this rant is. I guess I just needed to put it out there.

[skelesass]

older sketch of dante I did a while back

[linusbenjamin]

The Walking Dead —11.09, No Other Way

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm having incoherent thoughts about clone danny again from the clone/clone^2 au (when am I not?) but more specifically I'm thinking about his reaction to finding out he's a clone. The standalone clone au digs into that a little more than clone^2, which is more focused on Danny and Damian's relationship. But neither (so far) really get into Danny's issues about finding out he's a clone after 15 years of thinking he wasn't.

Because he resents his parents for not telling him for so long. He resents the way he found out; through a trivial school project rather than a sit-down talk. He resents the fact that, apparently, they had meant to tell him sooner. But forgot. He resents the fact that they never told him because finding out feels like something was stolen from him when it had the chance to not be.

Danny Fenton, just fifteen, cloned not even half a year ago, knows what that personal violation of autonomy feels like. He knows what it's like to be cloned and while he loves Ellie, he does, she's his sister, and in this au his twin. But he is still left with that feeling of unsafety after realizing he'd been cloned. Being cloned is violating. The onset realization that it's so easy to get DNA without the other party noticing, and that what was stopping someone from trying to clone him again?

Followed only after with the rest of the inexplainable mix of feelings of being cloned, the rest of that inner conflict and panic that's an ugly mocktail of emotions that range from horror to fear. Trying to imagine what it's like to be cloned from the cloned party, and I imagine that it leaves you with the feeling of needing to crawl out of your own skin with discomfort.

And then he gets put on the other side of it. Danny Fenton, only fifteen, was cloned not even half a year ago, finding out he is a clone. And reactions, I imagine, can vary from person to person. But to him, it feels like something got stolen from him, like someone took a hole puncher and stuck it right into his chest and stole a chunk of himself from him.

It changes nothing about him and yet it changes everything. It's a betrayal on it's own to just find out he was a clone and they didn't tell him for fifteen years -- it shouldn't mean anything, because he's still Danny, and yet it means everything. It's him, it's him, it's about him. It's his personhood. It's about the fact that a load-bearing rock in his identity just crumbled beneath his feet and now there's a rockslide.

Because then he finds out that they used the wrong DNA. Its like pouring salt in an open wound. He's not even related to his parents or his sister, when for years he thought he was. It's the fact that pieces of his identity that he's been so secure in for so long just got ripped away from him in an instant. Then they tell him -- only through his own horrified prompting -- that the person whose DNA they used -- Bruce Wayne -- didn't even know he existed. That they accidentally used the wrong DNA, then didn't tell the person whose DNA they used.

The betrayal of being lied to for years turns really quickly into horror at his own existence. Something very similar to the horror he felt at being cloned and the skin-crawling discomfort that made him feel like his own skin wasn't really his. And then its not. It's actually not. Nothing but his own name feels like it belongs to him anymore -- not his hair, not his eyes, not his heart or his lungs, nothing feels like his anymore and he didn't know what that felt like until it was gone.

It's a question of Nature Vs. Nurture -- where does the line of "nature" begin and where does the line of "nurture" end? What of him is actually his? What of him is Bruce Wayne's? It's not logical, it's not supposed to be. It's a load-bearing wall on the house of his identity being destroyed and now everything else is caving down in on him. What belongs to Danny, what belongs to Bruce Wayne?

[showtimeatfreddys]

IKR, every time I play and I’m making a mess I just think “omg these poor workers who aren’t even NPCs are going to have to deal with this.”

How many times has something like this happened? Just take the Bonnie incident. People showed up to work one day and this multimillion dollar animatronic was just wrecked. What exactly did corporate do about it? We’re workers blamed, fired, etc for the lack of oversight? And also, after an incident so serious, you’d think they’d want to hire more overnight security, animatronic handlers, and/or force them to stay in their green rooms overnight…but they don’t. (Was this before or after STAFF bots completely took over night shift anyway?)

My brain rot and hyperfocus became too much and I went back to one of my complete profiles and read the logs, and honestly there’s so much to unpack from those alone. What the Fazbear staff what through is seriously insane, and I wish it wasn’t so glossed over.

Regular things the Pizzaplex staff deals with:

. Chica routinely eats garbage. Food has to be locked up because otherwise the animatronic will shove it into her mouth. Why is she attempting this when she doesn’t have an actual stomach, and why is management not patching the bug? She is even stated to have attacked customers to get ahold of Monty Mystery Mix—IMAGINE being the worker who has to deal with that. Enormous animatronic twice your size wants the patrons popcorn, and these poor underpaid high schoolers have to stop it.

Speaking of which, the violence from the animatronics in general that these more staffers have to deal with, and probably fear. Monty destroys everything in sight with his new claws, Chica will fight for food, Moon tried to kill a kid, Roxy mauls the STAFF bots at the Raceway, etc. Let’s be honest, the band is probably the ones calling all the shots because the staff has to be afraid of them. If you’re a broke college student and some AI 5x heavier than you wants something—I doubt you’re putting up an argument.

Things go missing all the time. Key to Mazercise, certain STAFF bots, entire arcade cabinets. And the employees responsible for losing said items are no where to be found by their coworkers. I don’t really have a conclusive explanation for this but it’s weird.

Really odd demands. It seems from the reports that any damage to the animatronics is being taken out of employee paychecks, even if they might not technically be at fault. In the messages some of the examples are if Chica got caught in the trash compactor or if she gets into food (why is kitchen staff babysitting the animatronics?), an employee is worried they might be fired if they don’t go to a staff party (after their 14 hour shift???), someone got fired for not cooking off menu, etc. These guys go through some rough shit.

Construction workers have concerns that they are building over a sinkhole, find an elevator shaft, and go down to investigate. I seriously doubt they ever came back. How does that get covered up?

HOW IS FAZBEAR PASSING THE HEALTH INSPECTIONS??? The public areas are impeccably clean but there’s rotting food everywhere!

The safety hazards of the daycare??? Why The playstructures CANNOT be up to code, between the generators and pit falls. And let’s not forget about the blood thirsty animatronic inside.

There are murderous endoskeletons wandering around???

And that’s just from it being Freddy Fazbears place. Let’s not forget all the standard customer service Karen’s, bratty kids, disorderly teens, and other issues these workers have to face.

For a while I considered doing an RP blog similar to the iconic Fnaf 3 but it’s tumblr/English Willy one—but with Pizzaplex employees just because IMAGINE WORKING THERE. In the end I never got around to it but I still think of prompts from time to time of random shit the employees have to handle.

All in all—enjoy my ramblings about the insanity of Fazbear Entertainment. Just working for them must be crazy. This mess less so was about the employees themselves and just the utter chaos that occurs at the Pizzaplex but YEET

Ok but fucking IMAGINE being a worker at the Pizzaplex the morning after the events of security breach. Not even with the burntrap ending or the fire escape ending, just walking in to find Roxy running around without eyes, Chica missing half her face, and Monty entirely dismembered. Freddy, if he’s even still in the building, is somehow adorning all his band mates body parts, is dirty, but in working condition. The security guard is no where to be found. all the entrances to the Daycare have been blocked and labeled with “BANNED!” posters. Things are on fire.

And the employees just have to say “fucking mondays,” because it’s Fazbear Entertainment and they’ve probably seen worse.