#This might be a very nothing burger of a post

[afamiliarsword]

(WARNING, NOTHING BURGER POST:) Was very surprised today to realise that scripted "sports" shows that primarily focus on the sport is very rarely seen outside of anime and it feels like I have to be missing something

[fishedeyelenz]

when there's an artist you admire and you like they're OCs of but they suddenly start to develop it into a show and you have a sinking feeling that it won't go over well

[ohangeleyes]

⎯⎯ HUSBAND!DEAN WINCHESTER HEADCANONS

a/n i know i said i would be posting very very soon 3 weeks ago but in my defense i was busy with idk... this is my apology guys

notices contains cute ass dean and spicy ahh dean. for my bbg again @iris-w1nchester

┃dean didn't believe in "forever" until you.

he’s lived in motel rooms and warzones his entire life. permanence, something that would last felt like a myth for him. but it started creeping in slowly, quietly. it was the way he kept a toothbrush for you at the bunker. the way he started planning hunts around your schedule. the way your name came up when he talked about the future, without him realizing it.

it scared the hell out of him. love, to dean, had always been something that ended, violently. but with you? it felt… durable. and that was both terrifying and holy.

┃he realized he wanted to marry you while watching you fold laundry.

nothing dramatic. you were in one of his flannel shirts, standing barefoot, maybe listening to faint music playing in the background, folding his socks with that little quirk you do. and something in his chest just clicked. he sat back on the bed, eyes a little distant, hands stilled, and thought: “this is it. this is what I’ve been chasing.”

just this. the stillness. the safety. the ordinary, and how beautiful you made it feel.

┃when things started getting serious, he waited for the shoe to drop.

he started second-guessing everything: am I good enough? am I dragging her into a grave? what if I screw this up?

so he got distant. not because he didn’t want you, but because he did, too much. so much, it felt like loving you might kill him.

you didn’t force him to open up, you just stayed, kept being gentle, patient. and eventually, the walls cracked. he told you clumsily that he didn’t think he deserved something good. and you told him he did. he didn’t believe it. not at first. but you made him believe he did. and that made all the difference.

┃the ring wasn't something luxurious, it was personal, specific, chosen with care.

dean may seem rough-edged, but he’s sentimental. the ring? not flashy. maybe it had a stone in your birth color. maybe it was your mom’s ring he quietly got fixed. maybe it was a simple gold band engraved with something only you two understand. he spent hours figuring it out. weeks, even. we wanted it to feel like you. not just for it to be pretty.

┃the proposal wasn't grand, it was sacred.

he didn’t get down on one knee in a crowded restaurant, that’s not dean. it happened at the kitchen table at 2 am, half-drunk on cheap whiskey and pie, after a long hunt. you were wearing his hoodie, feet in his lap. you were talking about something silly, maybe a movie, maybe what color to paint the spare room.

he was staring at you like you hung the stars. and when you paused and looked at him, he just said: “marry me.”

soft. steady. with that haunted look in his eyes, like he couldn’t believe he was asking. like he half-expected you to say no. but also, deep down, desperately hoped you’d say yes.

┃after you said yes, he cried, but didn't want you to see.

dean feels everything, but buries it. after you said yes, he grinned. god, that grin, but when you went to grab your phone to call someone, he turned away, just for a second. but you caught the shake in his shoulders, the way he blinked up toward the ceiling. it wasn’t sadness, it was release. for the first time, maybe ever, he let himself believe in something that wouldn’t be ripped away.

┃he didn’t want a big wedding, but he did want you to have everything you deserved.

he said, “let’s just hit a courthouse and grab burgers after,” half-joking but totally serious. you saw it in his eyes, he didn’t want to waste time or money on something “fancy” for him. but when he saw how your eyes lit up talking about vows, music, food, he caved instantly. the way he always does when it’s about you. he didn’t fight you on any of it. not because he cared about flowers or cake, but because he cared that you cared. that was enough.

"if it makes you happy, I'm there, tux and all. hell, I'll even dance."

┃he was lowkey panicking the entire morning.

he didn’t sleep the night before. you’d never seen him that nervous, not even before a leviathan hunt. he paced the bunker kitchen, cracked half a dozen beers, muttered to himself. he was just terrified of screwing up something that mattered. so the moment before the ceremony? he was staring at himself in the mirror, whispering: "don't mess this up. she’s your home now. she’s your damn home.”

┃his vows were short, but they wrecked everyone.

you expected dean to grumble through his vows or quote some old rock song. but what came out of him was pure, raw, stripped-down truth. the kind of thing you only say when your heart is burning a hole in your chest. “I never thought I’d live this long. I never thought I’d find something that didn’t come with blood or pain. and then you walked in. and I didn’t know I was allowed to have peace. but I want it now. I want you. always." direct. intense. vulnerable.

┃the first dance? he dreaded it, until he saw your face.

dean’s not the “let’s slow dance in front of people” type. he groaned, tried to get out of it. but you talked him into it, and he gave in, because he always does, for you. and the second he pulled you close, everything else disappeared. he pressed his forehead to yours, murmured lyrics softly in your ear, totally off-key, and held you like he never wanted to let go. you felt his heart, beating loud enough to count.

“this ain’t so bad,” he whispered.

“yeah?”

“yeah. might even like it… if it means I get to hold you like this forever.

bonus: "can't help falling in love" was definitely playing in the background

┃the reception was messy, loud and filled with love.

he made damn sure there was pie. more than cake. sam gave a speech that had everyone in tears. cas stood awkwardly in the corner and made a comment about “the sanctity of human bonds,” which made dean laugh harder than you’d heard in weeks.

and at some point, around midnight, dean pulled you into his lap, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, murmuring “I can’t believe this is real” into your hair over and over again.

┃he didn’t care about the honeymoon details, he just wanted you.

you could’ve picked a beach, a cabin, even just stayed in bed at the bunker for a week straight. he didn’t give a damn where it was. his only request? “somewhere quiet. just us.”

┃during honeymoon, he plans nothing. except sex.

dean’s like, “sightseeing? that’s what I’m doing right now,” while watching you walk out of the shower, towel barely hanging on. lazy mornings become intense make-out sessions. afternoons are for naked naps and cuddles. nights? he turns the lights off just to feel every part of you without distractions.

“you wanna go out for dinner or… stay in and let me eat something else?”

┃he’s obsessed with “making memories.”

dean insists on taking polaroids or saving mementos: the cork from a bottle of wine, a seashell from your walk, a napkin from the hotel bar with a stupid doodle of you on it. he hides them in his duffel. one day, years later, you’ll find them and cry.

┃the mornings are slow, sacred, and full of sleepy affection.

dean’s a light sleeper (years of hunting will do that), but when he’s with you? he lets himself sleep deeper. he wakes up early, usually before you, but he never gets up right away. not when he’s got you curled into his chest, your breath warm on his neck, your hand draped over his stomach. he runs his fingers down your back, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and lets himself pretend, for five more minutes, that the world outside your bedroom doesn’t exist.

“mornin’, sweetheart. you staying here forever, or am I gonna have to trap you under the blankets?”

┃he always makes breakfast. always.

dean’s love language? acts of service. he won’t always say the soft things, but he’ll flip pancakes, fry bacon, and make you coffee or tea just the way you like it every damn morning. he hums classic rock while he cooks, occasionally turning around to flash you that smug little grin when he catches you staring.

if you ever cook for him? he teases you, “not bad, chef”, but his eyes are so soft, because he’s never had someone want to take care of him before.

┃hunts feel different now. he’s more careful, more deliberate.

dean still hunts. he probably always will. but since you, he doesn’t throw himself into danger the way he used to. he isn't so reckless anymore. not because he’s scared of death, he’s scared of leaving you. of becoming another ghost in your story. you’re his anchor now. so he double-checks salt lines. he calls you before and after hunts. and if you hunt too? oh, he’s protective, sometimes annoyingly so.

“you go left, I go right. watch your corners. and if anything touches you, I’m burning this whole damn house down.”

┃he has his hobbies, but now he wants to share them with you.

he still works on baby religiously, but now you’re invited. he’ll pass you tools and give you grease-smudged kisses like it’s nothing. movie nights? mandatory. he needs you to watch all his favorite old horror movies, even if you think they suck, because he wants to see your reactions more than the movie itself. and when he finds out you have a hobby, painting, knitting, whatever, he watches you do it like it’s magic. and he brags about it constantly.

“my girl made that. yeah, she’s kinda a genius, no big deal.”

┃vulnerable moments come in waves, but he shows up every time.

dean has trouble talking about his feelings, but when he opens up, it guts you. it happens in small moments: in bed after a nightmare, during a car ride after a hunt, or when a random song hits too hard.

“you know I never thought I’d have this, right? you, a home, peace. I still don’t know if I deserve it. but I’m not letting it go.”

he’s always there for your vulnerable moments too. if you cry? he doesn’t try to fix it. he just pulls you close, strokes your hair, and tells you everything’s okay.

┃cuddles are an every night thing.

dean needs physical affection like oxygen but pretends he doesn’t, that mf is so touch deprived. you’ll be watching tv and he’ll grumble, “come here,” before pulling you into his lap like a teddy bear. he wraps his arms around your waist, buries his face in your neck, and just breathes you in. you end up tangled under blankets, legs wrapped around each other, his hand under your shirt, resting on your skin just to know you’re real.

┃he has quiet “I love you” habits.

dean doesn’t say “I love you” every five minutes. but you feel it in a hundred tiny ways:

he keeps your chapstick in the glovebox.

he brings you pie when you’ve had a rough day.

he texts you dumb memes he doesn’t understand, just to make you smile.

he runs you a bath when he knows your back hurts.

he always sleeps on the side of the bed closest to the door, because if something ever came through it, he’d be the first line of defense.

he fixes things before you even know they’re broken.

he always walks on the side closest to the road.

he saves the last bite for you, even if it’s his favorite.

he checks the locks every night. twice.

┃fights aren’t explosive, they’re quiet and aching.

dean gets cold when he’s upset, emotionally, not cruelly. he’ll shut down, go quiet, avoid eye contact. but he never walks away. he stays. he sits with his feelings. and once he’s ready, he comes back to you.

“I don’t wanna fight you. I’m just… scared. I don’t wanna lose this. I don’t wanna lose you.”

and you always end up wrapped in each other again, tears drying between kisses, your forehead pressed to his like you’re both breathing the same apology.

┃sunday morning sex is sacred.

no alarms. no monsters. just the two of you tangled in warm sheets, half-asleep and already wrapped around each other. dean’s hand is under your shirt, thumb tracing soft circles on your waist before you even wake up. he kisses the back of your neck, breath warm, voice low and sleepy:

“mornin’, mrs. winchester… still sore from last night, or can I make you sore again?”

he’s slow and sweet on sundays. gentle rocking. lazy kisses. the kind of lovemaking that doesn’t end in a rush, but in laughter and quiet “I love you”s into each other’s skin.

┃he lives to undress you after a long day.

you walk in the door, bloodied, bruised, tired from a hunt and dean’s already helping you out of your jacket. boots off. weapons on the table. but then he’s unbuttoning your jeans, peeling off your shirt, fingertips ghosting over every scrape and mark with reverence.

“lemme take care of you, baby. you carried us out there… now let me carry you here.”

and sometimes that turns into a warm bath. sometimes a massage. And sometimes? he’s kneeling in front of you before you can even breathe, mouth on your skin like you’re holy.

┃he has a “kitchen counter” weakness.

something about seeing you barefoot, in one of his flannels, sipping coffee while leaning against the counter? it wrecks him.

next thing you know, he’s pinning you against the edge, mug gently set aside, his hands under your thighs.

sex in the kitchen becomes a regular occurrence. bacon sizzling in the background. your laughter echoing off the tile. his hips snapping into yours while the sun pours through the window.

┃ his pillow talk turns domestic and filthy.

aftercare is very real with husband dean. he’s all about the cuddles, stroking your hair, making sure you’re hydrated and fed. but once your breathing’s evened out and the room is quiet? he starts whispering filthy little plans for the future into your ear.

“you ever think about what you’ll look like with my kid in you?”

“wanna get a place with a big porch. I’ll take you every night in the rocking chair.”

“let’s grow old together, baby… but I’ll still have you screaming my name in every room.”

┃angry sex after arguments is a whole thing.

married life isn’t always smooth and dean can be stubborn. but when the two of you argue? it builds up into something hot and dangerous. he’ll slam the door, pace around, clench his jaw, but he always comes back.

“Still mad?”

“Shut up and bend over.”

it’s raw, fast, breathless. teeth on your neck. hands gripping tight. but after? he cradles your face, whispers apologies into your skin, and kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

┃he gets weirdly emotional during soft, slow sex.

when it’s just the two of you, no distractions, nothing but skin and breath and whispered I love you’s, he sometimes gets quiet. eyes locked. hands holding your face. that single tear-thing he hates happens more than he admits.

“you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart… I never thought I’d get this. you. this life.”

he holds you for hours afterward. like if he lets go, the dream might end.

┃he buys lingerie “for you”… but it’s totally for him.

every few months, you’ll find something new on the bed. a lacy thing in your favorite color, folded neatly with a note: “try it on. I’ll be waiting.” and dean? he sits at the foot of the bed, jaw dropped, eyes burning with adoration and lust.

“fuckin’ hell… my wife.”

“you married me just for this, huh?”

“damn right I did.”

┃your wedding ring drives him wild in bed.

he never says it, but every time your hand wraps around him and that ring catches the light? he goes feral. it’s visual proof that you’re his. that you chose him. and when he finishes? he presses his forehead to yours, rubs your ring with his thumb, and just breathes you in.

┃thinking about having a kid? he thinks about it way before you or before he'll admit it out loud

he watches you from across the kitchen, still in a tee shirt, humming to yourself, hair messy and his chest aches. he doesn’t mean to imagine it… but suddenly you’ve got a baby on your hip. or a little kid sitting at the table coloring while you make lunch. and he wants it, badly, but pushes the thought down.

“no way. not with this life. it’d be selfish.”

but it keeps creeping in. every time you yawn and curl into his chest. every time he sees a dad holding a toddler at a diner. it’s not a fantasy, it’s a craving. one he’s terrified to say out loud.

┃he wrestles HARD with guilt and fear.

the idea of bringing a kid into this world, especially his world, makes his stomach churn.

“what if they turn out like me?”

“what if I can’t protect them?”

“what if they lose me too young?”

but the more you two build a home, the harder it is for him to ignore that aching hope.

“you’d be an amazing mom,” he says one night, quietly, when he thinks you’re asleep.

and when you whisper back, “you’d be an amazing dad,” he just clutches you tighter.

┃ he absolutely short-circuits when you tell him you're pregnant.

you show him the test and for a few seconds he just… stares. blinking. jaw on the floor. processing.

“that’s… that’s real? you’re sure?”

“shit, sweetheart, you’re really pregnant?”

then it hits him all at once, his hands fly to your stomach even if there’s no bump yet, and his eyes get glassy.

“we’re gonna have a baby?”

“you’re gonna be the mother of my kid.”

he kisses you like you’re made of starlight and then sits on the bed in silence for like 10 minutes trying not to cry.

┃he immediately throws himself into dad Mode.

day one: he’s googling vitamins, rubbing your back, reorganizing the pantry, and drawing up baby name lists he’ll pretend are “just for fun.” by week six: he’s installed a baby app, banned you from lifting heavy boxes, and is holding your hand during every appointment.

┃he handles your mood swings like a champion.

he’s SO gentle with you. if you cry at a commercial? you’re in his lap with a blanket and your favorite snack. if you snap at him for no reason? he just nods and says, “you want space or a cuddle, sweetheart?”

┃when the baby kicks for the first time, he breaks.

literally tears up. presses his hand to your belly like it’s holy.

“holy shit. that’s our kid.”

he talks to the bump every night after that. tells it stories. asks it what music it likes. says he hopes they get your eyes and your laugh.

┃he won’t let you lift a damn finger, he adores doing everything for you.

laundry? he’s on it. grocery runs? cavings at 2 am? he’s in the car before you finish your sentence.

“you’re growin’ a whole person. least I can do is keep you fed.”

and at night, he holds you so gently, hand spread over your belly, whispering,

“I’m scared, sweetheart… but I’ve never wanted anything this bad in my whole life.”

MASTERLIST

i feel like a cheater but whatever, enjoy...

so yall want dad dean head canons or what

[porcelana-r0ta]

let the mourners come

Title: let the mourners come

Ao3 Link: Only available to Ao3 users

Word Count: 3045

Summary:

It started, as most things do with Danny Fenton, as a joke.

It ended, as most things do with Jazz Fenton, with things better than they were before.

xxXxx

When Danny finally gets a Twitter, it’s during Elon Musk’s shit show takeover. He’s able to secure a good Twitter handle thanks to people leaving en masse and fleeing to Tumblr. He knows about things that happen outside of Amity Park (he is terminally online rather than chronically, after all), but he still doesn’t think anything of using @TheJoker as his handle, even knowing about Gotham City’s clown troubles. It’s just going to be a shitpost account, anyway, one that dances in the chaos of Elon’s electronic graveyard. Nothing will come about him using @TheJoker when he’s merely posting things like, “Just grew a new row of teeth!!! very pointy but can’t go to the dentist anymore bc they might turn me in to the giw.”

So Danny honestly never foresaw The Actual Real Joker breaking out of Arkham Asylum all the way in Gotham City, New Jersey, and deciding to get a Twitter account to terrorize people online as well as offline. And he definitely never foresaw The Joker @’ing him on Twitter, demanding that Danny change his Twitter handle. But, well. Here he was. 

[Image Description: A screenshot of a Twitter reply chain, starting with the real Joker @'ing Danny's Twitter account, which uses TheJoker as his Twitter handle. The Joker, who has a verified account, demands that Danny "change your handle", and Danny replies with a simple "no" followed by red heart emoji. The Joker Tweets, "Kid you don't know who you're fucking with," to which Danny replies, "Ye I do ur some dude w/ poor fashion sense and lame jokes. Maybe try badjokesbyjeff bc originality is ugly on u" followed by a shrugging emoticon. The Joker responds, "Check your DMs." Danny then responds, "Perf [happy emoji surrounded by hearts] I've sent you a time and place. Can't wait to beat the shit out of another disgrace of a clown." Someone with the username "Gregg rulz ok" responds to Danny's last Tweet, "Bro is absolutely RATIOING the joker but the clown keeps responding [three skull emojis] embarrassing frfr too bad he's gonna die for realsies".

End ID]

Danny is quick to respond and then makes even quicker work of roasting The Joker. This soon results in The Joker DMing him his IP Address and a creative threat. Still, Danny isn’t about to cow to a clown with no respect for the art of clowning. He replies to the DM: 

Cool, meet me at the Nasty Burger parking lot in Amity Park IL on tuesday at 2am

The response from The Joker is quick:

Fourteen year olds are too confident these days

Danny rolls his eyes and ignores the influx of notifications from Twitter, and instead makes another Tweet.

Imagine beefing with someone over a Twitter handle lol acc so embarrassing for him

He blackens his screen and stretches in bed, letting his spine pop more than what is humanly possible. He runs his tongue over that second row of teeth, his lips curling into a grin. 

xxXxx

Gothamite Twitter is blowing up over The Joker’s social media beef with a faceless shitposting account. Jason, upon finding out about it, has a series of reactions: first, he looks up the shitposter and follows them. Then, he finds the actual chain between the poster and The Joker, and his vision goes vibrant green when he sees that The Joker’s profile picture is of the second Robin, beaten and swollen in an abandoned building in Ethiopia. 

When his vision clears and he can breathe without wanting to kill, he likes the shitposter’s replies, and he calls the Replacement to see if the other Bats know already.

“We know,” Tim says in lieu of a hello when the ringing cuts out. “We’re working on it.”

“What, you think anything’s gonna come of it?” But even as Jason asks, he already knows the answer. The Joker is unhinged and once he’s threatened something, he’ll follow up unless he comes up with a “funnier” option. 

Tim’s breath hitches, and he says, “I’ve hacked their DMs. Joker knows the kid’s IP address and sent it to him. He knows everything from that address alone.”

He pauses in the middle of suiting up, “Kid?”

He hears Tim swallow, “Yes, kid. He’s fifteen. And he gave The Joker a specific time and place to meet up to fight. In his own hometown.”

“Are— are you fucking kidding me?” 

“No. B is already calling Nightwing. We’re taking the Batwing to Illinois.”

“Jesus fuck. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Hood, I—”

“Shut up, I’m already in my gear.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. 

He refreshes the Twitter feed and barks a laugh at the newest Tweet:

Jason Todd votes, and the Red Hood leaves his safe house. 

xxXxx

A commercial flight to Illinois takes around two and a half hours. In the Batwing, they get there in an hour, and don’t even have to worry about the drive from Chicago to a small speck of a town like Amity Park. They spend the quick flight learning everything they can about Daniel James Fenton, the owner of the Twitter account, and they can all sense the growing tension from (and between) Bruce and Jason.

But, well. Jason doesn’t care. Let them be uncomfortable. It doesn’t compare to being ripped back into life and finding out his dad didn’t even get justice for his death. 

When they reach town, it doesn’t take long to find the Fentons’ home. This is in part because Amity Park is a very navigable town, and because of the giant neon sign proclaiming FentonWorks on the side of the building. 

“Is that a blimp?” Dick asks. “Why don’t we have a blimp?” 

“Where would we keep it?” the Demon Brat counters practically. “Goliath takes up all of the Cave’s extra space.” 

Jason rolls his eyes and knows veins would be popping out of Bruce’s forehead if it weren’t for the cowl. 

“Let’s go,” Bruce says instead, and they all make their way to the house. 

Nightwing, predictably, goes for the front door approach. Jason rolls his eyes as he takes one of the second-story windows and finds his way downstairs.

He gets down at the same time that a redheaded girl answers the door and nearly slams it in Dick’s face. Jason has to suppress snickers at the sight. 

“Wait, wait, wait, are you Jazz Fenton? We need to talk to your brother!” 

“...We?” she asks, then tenses and turns around to see the rest of the Bats in the hall behind her. Dick takes the opportunity to step in completely, closing the door behind him. “Wha— what’s going on?”

“Where are your parents, Jazz?” Bruce makes every question sound like a demand. Jason rolls his eyes from behind his mask—way to put the teenager at ease, B.

“Why do you need to know?” Her voice has a defensive edge to it. “What do you want with Danny?” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nightwing comforts. “He didn’t do anything too bad, just said some dumb things online. It’s not his fault.” 

This relaxes her, and her shoulders begin un-hunching. “Oh, s-so what’d he do?”

“He foolishly challenged The Joker to a battle in a ‘Nasty Burger’ parking lot tonight.” 

“You could’ve had some more tact, Robin,” Nightwing scolds. But the Demon Spawn just crosses his arms. 

“He did what?” Jazz shrieks. “Like, The Joker from Gotham? That Joker?”

“Are there others?” Red Hood comments dryly. 

Her face goes through several different emotions—disbelief, rage, fear, and then rage again, “DANIEL JAMES FENTON! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!” 

There’s a thumping noise, and then frantic footsteps down the stairs. 

“Wha? Who died?” asks the figure of a tiny fifteen-year-old, smaller than even Jason had been when he was alone with The Joker. He’s tiny and lanky. Zero muscle definition. Eye bags to rival the Replacement’s. Something ripples in the Pit, deep and distinct, but he can’t name what causes it.

Oh, this kid is so dead. 

“Danny,” says Jazz calmly while Danny blinks uncomprehendingly at the heroes in their hallway. She is solemn when she says, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you now.” 

“What did I do?” 

She stares at him, “Why have you scheduled a fight with The Joker?” 

“Oh, that.” He rubs the back of his neck, “Is he taking that seriously?”

“Of course he is, Danny! It’s The Joker! That’s what he does! He can’t differentiate between a joke and reality! He would tear off his own face for the bit!” 

“Oof,” is all Danny can muster. He digs his phone out and starts typing before Jazz yanks it out his hand. 

“You’re fucking TWEETING about this?” Jazz asks incredulously, and Hood’s hackles rise. She even reads the Tweet aloud, “‘Just found out @TheJ0ker is being fr about fighting me. Sad but i can take a clown.’”

“I was gonna add ‘i’ve done it b4,’ but like the letter and the number four. But yeah.” 

“You’re grounded forever.” Danny opens his mouth to protest, but the look Jazz cuts at him is so scathing that he shuts his mouth. Hood is reluctantly impressed—she had what could be cultivated into a fantastic Batglare. She pockets the phone, “You’re never getting this phone back. Taunting The Joker to Amity? Have you any brain cells? What if he brings Joker gas with him, huh? Or any of his goons? What if he starts hurting other people? Have you thought any of this through?” 

Danny’s face goes from tired to chastised, his lips drawing into a frown, especially at the mention of other people. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think that he’d take it so seriously.”

“He sent you your IP Address.”

“I thought that was just a random string of numbers?”

“Oh my god,” Jazz despairs. “Oh my god. Grounded forever. See, I know you're lying to me. I know you're lying because Tucker, the nerdiest tech nerd to have ever been born, is your best friend.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “I tune him out?”

“You’re still lying to me?” Jazz scoffs and turns to Batman, “Do whatever you want with him. I’m not going to defend him from this.” 

“Hey!” complained her brother, but Batman just continued on, “Where are your parents?”

“They’re in Sweden for a science convention,” Jazz answers. “They left this morning.” 

Damn, Jason curses to himself. 

“Jazz, seriously. You’re not gonna let Batman kill me, right?” 

“Do you want to be cremated or buried, Danny?” Jazz asks blasély, and Danny gulps, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. 

“It’s my Twitter handle,” he mutters petulantly, and Jason can’t believe the gall of this kid. Or maybe stupidity. Audacity’s a good one, too. “If he wanted it, he should’ve gotten it first. And he gives clowns a bad name.” 

“Not the clown thing again.” Jazz digs her palms into her eyes, sighs, then turns to the heroes. “He has a whole clown thing ever since Circus Gothica came to town and robbed a bunch of jewelry stores.” 

Danny gestures wildly with his hands, as if demonizing clowns was the real problem and not the egomaniacal mass murderer who wanted to murder him for his Twitter handle, “Clowning is an art form, Jazz, and people like Freakshow and The Joker make a mockery of the very serious societal statements that clowns make!” 

All of the Bats very carefully Did Not look at Nightwing, who has made very similar rants on quiet patrols.

“You are never leaving this house again,” she says serenely. “And I’m unplugging the wifi router.”

“You would punish even yourself?”

“Oh, little brother. I would watch the world burn if it meant knocking sense into your thick skull.” 

“Okay, Christ,” Red Hood finally interrupted the siblings’ melodrama. An unyielding redheaded girl and a mouthy black-haired, blue-eyed boy? They’d fit in a little too well back at the Manor, so Jason needs to cut this shit out before Bruce’s bat-doption instincts start tingling. “Stop. Just… Christ. Stop. Is this how you always interact with each other?”

“Sometimes there’s explosions,” Danny pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face. 

Jazz doesn’t dispute it. 

Fucking hell. God damn it. I can’t. I just can’t. 

Batman doesn’t give anything away, “Robin and Red Robin will be staying here with you until Nightwing, Hood, and I apprehend The Joker. First, we’re going to check the perimeter.” 

“Oooh, I get to give the lab tour!” 

Lab?

“No lab. You’re grounded. You’ll only be in there for cleaning duty now.”

“Wh– hey! No fair!” 

“What’s this lab you two are talking about?” Red Robin asks before Jazz can rip into her brother again. 

She sighs, “Our parents’ lab. I’ll show you, but someone needs to stay with Danny.” 

“You act like I’m gonna run off and start World War III….”

“I wonder why,” she says sarcastically.

Batman nods to Robin, who nods back, and the rest of them follow Jazz out of the living room to a metal reinforced door. She types in a code—Jason catches the numbers 03-14-99. There’s an assenting beep, and she opens the door, flicking on the lights and leading them down into what is apparently a basement lab. 

A stone settles in Red Hood’s stomach, cold and heavy. 

The basement is large, likely the floor size of the entire building. There are several work tables, filled with miscellaneous blueprints and spare parts and weapons and tools. Against the farthest wall is another armored door, but what draws Hood’s—and the entire Batclan’s—attention is the south wall, where a circular hole in the wall was glowing a toxic Pit green. 

The stone shattered in his stomach, splintering into his body. Is it harder or easier to breathe? Jason can’t tell. 

“Wow,” says Nightwing. His voice is cheerful, but Jason can feel the stress beneath it. “Do I even want to know?” 

Wasn’t this supposed to just be typical Joker bullshit?

“Our parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz explains nonchalantly, walking further into the lab. “As in, ghost biologists.” She pauses at one of the work tables, picking up a green and white thermos. Pretty boring, considering the rest of their surroundings. 

“Ghosts.” Red Robin’s voice is carefully neutral. 

“Ghosts,” Jazz reaffirms. “I know. I thought they were crazy at first, too. But I can prove it, if you like.” Then, without waiting for a yes or no, she untwists the thermos, and there’s a bright flash of white, and a whole entire body sprouting out of it. 

“WHOO! I’M FREE!” cries the…being, pale and floating and lanky and entirely too big to have fit into a fucking thermos, of all the fucking things. “....And not in the Realms? Wait.” He stops stretching, descending to rest closer to the ground, but still hovering a few inches from the floor. He’s got green eyes and lifeless (ha) blond hair. He’s wearing a trenchcoat and a green skull necklace. Overall, he looks like the type of thug he’d arrest in the Bowery. 

“Hello, Johnny.” The man’s—ghost’s?—eyes flicker around each person in the room, his gaze becoming more and more confused and panicked as he takes in each Bat, before settling on Jazz Fenton. 

“Why are the fucking Bats here?” 

“The Joker’s coming to Amity,” she says. The ghost’s eyes widen. Jazz tilts her head, “How many ghosts would you say passed away in Gotham, Johnny?” 

As Jason and the Bats tense, this Johnny guy lets out a wicked laugh, “Oh, Doll, you have the best surprises. Why did we break up?” 

“You did try to have my body possessed. That ruins any good relationship.” 

“Man, but Kitty’ll love this. Thanks for letting me out of Soup Time, Doll.” He floats higher, “Any advice?” 

She throws him the phone she’d confiscated from Danny and he catches it easily, “Everything’s on here. Have fun.”

“What exactly are you planning?” Batman scowls. 

Johnny laughs, “Aww, don’t worry, Bats. Peace and love on Planet Earth, or whatever. We’ll make it quick.” Then, as the Bats leap into action as one, Johnny turns invisible, the Batarangs passing harmlessly through where he’d once been floating. 

“Where did he go?” Batman turns his scowl, angrier than ever, to Jazmin Fenton, who stares back unflinchingly. “He’s going to solve the problem.”

“You mean he’s going to kill The Joker.”

She shakes her head, “Oh, no. That’d just be asking for him to come back as a ghost. Could you imagine a Joker with powers like invisibility, intangibility, flight, and more? Johnny can be impulsive, but he’s smart. None of them will kill The Joker.” 

“Then what are they going to do?” Red Robin asks. 

“My parents are ectobiologists,” Jazz repeats from earlier. “But I am more of an anthro-ectopologist. I am concerned with the study of ectoplasmic beings’ societies and cultures. And while it is very ancient, there is protocol in the Infinite Realms—that is, where you go when you die, should you remain after death—to prosecute living criminals who have killed a certain number of Realms citizens. So you don’t have to worry about your moral code, Batman. The Joker will be tried by a much fairer court than Gotham can ever hope to have. No offense.” 

Jason stares at Jazz Fenton, who he’d pegged as the sane sibling. He’s not so sure now, but he can’t say he hates it.

“And how do we know it’s a fair trial?” Nightwing asks. 

She waves her hand, “Oh, as Gotham’s Knights, you’re key witnesses. I’m sure you’ll be summoned to testify. You will see then. And don’t worry about your secret identities—the dead don’t care much for that sort of thing.” 

“So if this is a ‘fair’ trial or whatever, The Joker’s going to be locked up forever?” Jason asks. “I mean, that’s the only option for shit like him.” 

Batman sends him a look, but he ignores it. 

“Well, there are several different punishments that could be deemed appropriate, but he’ll never be able to set foot in the mortal world again, yes.” 

Jason Todd grins, “Oh, I’m glad your brother’s stupid, kid.” 

She sighs, long-suffering, “Well, that makes one of us. Still, there’s more important things we should discuss now that you’re here.”

“More important than The Joker trying to kill your brother over a Twitter handle?” Red Robin asks doubtfully. 

Jazz smiles, sharp and dangerous, and asks, ”Have you ever heard of the Anti-Ecto Acts?” 

xxXxx

Several months later when Danny is finally un-grounded, he Tweets his last three Tweets before Twitter can become the foolishly named X: 

Imagine bullying the Joker so hard that it not only lands the Joker in ghost prison BUT it also leads to major law reform in the US lmao someone make the domino effect meme about this pls

Y’allre replying to me with thanks like i did anything other than be an internet troll. My sister literally manipulated local, federal, and interdimensional law so you should be thanking her. 

i just a babie 🥺🥺🥺

xxXxx

Thanks for reading! This is the whole fic, so pls do not ask for tags! Thank you :)

[actualbird]

love this post. mwah

now here's each of these assigned to an nxx boy

first -> vyn. he is literally a mental health professional and so he'd know the vocabulary of his issues and how to tackle it. the only thing holding him back is the fact that he'd be very averse to showing any kind of vulnerability, weakness, or fault. so he'd be like

vyn: i am aware i have problems and i know what they are, as well as how to treat them. nobody else has to know this though.

second -> artem. he is a self-aware and intelligent man who would be able to realize that there are Signs but he would also be more susceptible to frustration on how to actually handle it, partly also because of an aversion to showing Wrongness. so he'd be like

artem: i sense i have symptoms but i don't know how to deal with them. perhaps i can put this off...indefinitely.

third -> luke. mister repression avoidant liar extraordinaire!!! he will ACTIVELY push people away and belittle his struggles, like it's not a big deal and he'll get over it! he likely wouldnt be too aggressive (it'll be more likely that he smacks a strained smile on his face instead) but he would be incredibly beat-around-the-bush-y and averse to anybody getting close to him while he's going through Whatever It Is He's Going Through. so he'd be like

luke: it's fine! i'm fine! this is nothing, i'll get over it! wanna go grab a burger? :D

fourth -> marius. NOW WE'RE TALKING. i'm not saying he's stupid, i'm saying he's so deep down in denial that it doesn't even occur to him that he might have problems. like it doesnt even compute for him. he doesnt have to vocabulary for what he's going through because he, in the first place, doesnt even believe theres anything wrong. so he'd be like

marius: haha yeah when i'm stuck in a cold dark location i like toooootally zone out and like, breathe all weird, then brain totally shuts off, all empty. same thing happens when people bring up mom or how long giann's been gone, haha. it's just. it's Funky Time. things get Funky. wdym it's a problem? it goes away pretty quickly and becomes Empty Time! and it feels pretty swimmy for a while but hey, at least i'm able to get some work done once the Empty Time hits. haha

vyn: good lord

artem: i...i don't think thats a regular response

luke: man even i can tell that's a problem. and that's rich, coming from me.

marius: it's not! it's---it's funny! guys, you can laugh, you know? uh. please laugh....please?

[crxwn-06]

ASHES AND ECHOES

“ home has become wherever he sleeps safely ”

Damian runs away: Jon is not his, he is not a Wayne, he is not an Al Ghul. In the hope of finding himself in the destruction of the League, he finds instead the latest experiment, the latest innovation: his and Jon’ son. He flees. With the baby. He dies. (Does he?) While his family mourns him, he learns to live again.

or, Damian haunting the narrative for everyone while being a very much alive single father in his lil beach house

1. ALL THAT’S LEFT

masterlist ;; « prev || next »

six months earlier.

The night in Gotham clung close to the skin — thick with humidity and city rot, cut only by the occasional gust of wind off the rooftops. The skyline stretched ahead like a line of broken teeth, jagged and restless.

Damian stood on the edge of a gargoyle’s wing, arms crossed, cape still. Gotham pulsed beneath him — home, battlefield, cage. The static in the comm line buzzed faintly in his ear before a familiar voice broke through.

«It’s been a while, Dami.»

The name hit like a half-remembered melody. Warm, sharp, undeserved.

It was Jonathan Kent’s voice. Clear. Calm. A little deeper now — older in ways Damian could hear before he ever turned to look.

Not that he turned.

He didn’t need to.

He could already see it in his mind: the too-tall posture, the hopeful frown, the way he hovered just enough off the ground to feel like he didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

Jonathan Kent.

Once his best friend.

Now? Just a familiar figure slipping from his fingers into someone else’s future — one that Damian wasn’t a part of.

They hadn’t fought. Not exactly.

They just stopped fitting.

Ever since Jon came back — taller, older, six years ahead and impossibly kind despite it all — they’d been drifting. One beat at a time. One missed call. One awkward patrol. One moment where Jon laughed too loud at something Damian no longer found funny.

They didn’t get to grow up together.

That thought alone made something bitter and feral scrape at the back of his throat.

They were supposed to be partners. Idiots together. Side by side.

But now—

Now Jon looked at him like he didn’t know where to stand.

Damian didn’t answer. The silence stretched long between them, weighted and heavy.

«You seem well» Jon offered again, softer this time. Cautious.

It was a lie. Or worse, a kindness.

Damian wasn’t well.

He was angry. And tired. And always just two steps from breaking something that cared about him.

He looked like a ghost in his own home. A soldier without a war.

His father watched him like he was trying to find someone else beneath his skin. Alfred sighed more these days. Grayson tried too hard not to look worried.

He didn’t feel “well.” He felt hollow.

Still, Damian only replied with a faint scoff — wordless, dismissive, careful not to look at Jon.

Because if he looked, he might remember the sound of them laughing side by side in the Fortress.

Might remember how it felt when he had someone who never flinched at the shadows around him.

But that boy was gone.

And this man — too good, too bright — wasn’t his.

Not anymore.

«I’ve got to go now» Jon says gently, the kindness in his voice soft but not patronizing. It’s that same tone he’s used ever since he came back older — like he’s afraid of speaking too loudly and breaking something that’s barely holding together.

He doesn’t move right away.

Instead, he steps just close enough to reach out and place a hand on Damian’s shoulder — light, steady, familiar.

The touch is warm. Real. It doesn’t linger long, maybe only a second or two, but Damian feels it down to his spine. The weight of it is nothing and everything.

Jon smiles — hopeful and a little unsure. «Let’s meet somewhere these days, okay? I miss our burgers post patrol.»

The laugh he gives after is small, forced, casual. Like he’s trying not to sound like he means it too much.

Damian doesn’t respond at first. He stares straight ahead, jaw tense, every instinct screaming to say something cold — to cut it off before it reaches him.

But instead…

He nods. Once.

A tiny, rigid motion. Almost mechanical. But it costs more than he’ll ever admit.

Jon’s smile flickers — not quite happy, not quite sad. He gives his shoulder a last squeeze, then rises slowly into the air.

«Take care, Damian» he says.

And then he’s gone. Up into the night sky, cape billowing like a comet’s tail behind him.

Damian doesn’t watch him leave. Not directly. He waits until the wind settles again, the warmth fades from his shoulder, and the rooftop feels just a little colder than it did before.

Then he exhales, slow and silent.

The truth is, he does remember the burgers. And the bickering. And the too-long milkshake arguments. He remembers everything.

But he doesn’t know how to reach for it anymore.

Not when the time they lost still hangs between them like a locked door neither of them knows how to break.

The sounds in the Cave had settled into routine: clicking keys, the occasional flicker of electricity, the distant whine of a Batcycle cooling in the corner.

Bruce stood behind Damian again. Watching him, maybe too long. The tension built in quiet increments. Neither of them spoke.

Damian could feel it pressing at his back — that familiar weight of his father’s silence, always demanding, never explaining.

«If you have something to say» Damian snapped without turning, «just say it.»

Bruce didn’t flinch. «You’ve been reckless lately.»

That did it.

Damian turned from the console, sharp and fast. «Reckless? I neutralized four armed hostiles before your sensors even picked them up.»

«You engaged alone, without backup.»

«Because no one backs me up!» Damian shot back, voice rising. «You’ve made it clear I’m a liability the second I make you uncomfortable.»

Bruce’s jaw tensed, but his voice remained low. Controlled. «You’ve been unpredictable. Emotional. Distracted. I can’t risk—»

«You can’t risk me? Or you can’t risk seeing me fail again?»

The silence after that was different — colder. Deeper.

Damian stepped forward, fists clenched, armor still streaked with dried blood. «Ever since Kent came back, you’ve treated me like a child again. Like I’m the one who didn’t grow up fast enough. Like I’m still waiting for some version of the son you wanted to return.»

Bruce’s eyes flashed, but his voice stayed level — too level. «This isn’t about Jon.»

«It’s always about Jon!» Damian shouted, voice cracking. «He gets to come back. Older. Better. The golden son of two worlds. And I’m just… the one who stayed. Who stayed and bled and broke and watched everything fall apart.»

Bruce stared at him. Unmoving. But his expression had shifted.

There was something raw in his eyes now. Something close to hurt.

«You think I don’t see you?» Bruce said, quietly. «You think I don’t notice how hard you’re trying to fall apart right now? You know why I worry about you going out alone?» he finally said, voice tight. «Because the last time you disappeared without a word, you ended up with the League. You came back colder. Sharper. And barely fifteen.»

Damian didn’t turn. His voice was flat.

«I came back alive.»

«You came back broken.»

That landed. Hard.

Damian’s shoulders jerked before he could stop it. But his eyes snapped back, venom-laced and defensive.

The cave was humming with cold tension. Neither of them had backed down, though the conversation had long left reason behind.

«You’ve been reckless. Short-sighted. Your patrols are unfocused—»

«They’re efficient,» Damian cut in sharply. «Unlike your lectures.»

«Efficient doesn’t mean controlled» Bruce shot back. «You go in like you’re looking for a fight. Not to protect anyone.»

Damian’s voice lowered into a bite. «Maybe I’m not protecting people for you anymore.»

Something behind Bruce’s eyes hardened. His voice turned sharp.

«You’re acting like a League soldier again.»

The silence that followed was immediate. A snap of stillness.

Damian froze. Just for a second. Then blinked — slow and deliberate.

He scoffed. Low and bitter. Tried to play it off.

«If that’s what I was made to be.»

Bruce’s expression shifted instantly. «No—Dami, wait. I didn’t mean—»

«We both know what you meant, yeah?» Damian said, smile curling tight and cruel at the edge. He turned away, picking up his gloves, re-strapping them with slow, deliberate movements. «Thanks for the reminder.»

Bruce stepped forward. «You are not—»

«What, a weapon? A mistake?» Damian’s eyes flashed as he looked back. «You think I don’t already hear that in every order you give me? In the way you flinch when I go too far?»

«You’re my son, Damian.»

«You didn’t say that until I was already bleeding for you.»

That landed like a punch.

Bruce’s mouth opened — then closed. His expression fractured. He reached for words that wouldn’t come.

Damian beat him to it. Quiet. Cold. «You only love me when I’m trying not to be who I am.»

He moved past Bruce, cape brushing against his side as he headed for the Zeta tube.

Bruce turned after him, voice hoarse. «Where are you going?»

«Out.»

«You’re not on duty tonight.»

Damian glanced over his shoulder — eyes sharp, smile bitter. «Exactly.»

And then he was gone. The sound of the heavy doors cutting through the silence.

Bruce stood alone in the blue glow, jaw tight, hands clenched.

The words he wanted to say were useless now. He knew that look in Damian’s eyes.

It was the same one he used to see in the mirror.

Right before he ran away, too.

The rain dripped down from the corners of the cracked rooftop, hissing softly against the gutters. It had soaked their shoulders despite the small metal awning above, pooling around their boots, and turning the air heavy with city steam.

Damian paced in tight, tense circles. His cape was plastered to his back, boots kicking against a loose pebble that scattered across the concrete. He looked restless — not in his usual sharp, efficient way, but in the way someone did when they were unraveling at the seams.

Jon watched him from the edge of the roof, half-sitting on a broken AC unit, a crumpled fast food bag in one hand.

The blues of his eyes followed every twitch and snap of movement. He didn’t need to hear the sharpness of Damian’s words — he could feel it, thrumming off him in waves. And beneath it all, steady but shaken, he could hear the boy’s heartbeat faltering. Not in strength — but in rhythm.

Uneven.

Like it had been ever since Damian started pulling away from everyone but him.

Jon shifted, his voice low, trying to coax him down from wherever his mind was.

«I’m sure he’s just scared, Dames. He worries that something bad might happen to you if you keep jumping in first and alone.»

Damian didn’t stop moving. Didn’t meet his eyes.

«He’s not scared of something happening to me» he snapped. «He’s scared I’ll go back. That I’ll retreat to the League the moment he stops looking.»

Jon bit the inside of his cheek. He knew better than to argue when Damian’s voice took on that edge. But he also knew the look in his eyes — the way he kept searching the skyline, like there was something out there he was trying to outrun.

He stood. Took a step forward.

Damian finally paused. Just a breath.

«I just want him to see» he muttered, barely above the rain, «that I’m not the League’s weapon anymore. That I’m a good Robin»

His jaw clenched.

«I’ll show him.»

Jon’s heart ached. He could feel the sadness in those words — buried under all the pride and fury and need. He took another slow step forward, voice gentle. «You don’t have to prove that to anyone. You already left them, Damian. You’re here.»

Damian shook his head once, sharply. «It doesn’t count unless he sees it.»

«Why not?»

«Because I was made to be one thing. And every time I mess up, every time I lose control—he thinks they were right to make me that way.»

His voice cracked at the edge, like it almost wasn’t meant to be said out loud.

Jon moved closer, slow, careful.

«You think this is about him thinking you’re a weapon» he said softly. «But I think you’re trying to believe it too. And you’re scared that if you don’t prove it, it’s going to swallow you whole again.»

Damian didn’t answer.

The rain got heavier. Thunder rolled low in the distance.

«Dames» Jon tried again, quieter now, «you’re not alone in this. Just wait. Just come back here. It’s still raining»

Damian turned his head, voice brittle but still sharp: «I’m not made out of sugar, Jonathan.»

Taglist: @sparrows4bats @lobdw20 @sleepynagii @linoalwaysknows @mamamoble @blue22roses @srta-saori @remosdeerica @touchofhemlocktea @ashshadows001 @famouscrusadeluminary

If you wish to be added to the taglist, leave a comment!!🩷

Also Nostalgia chap 3 coming soon let me cook

[atwas-gaming]

So, I've mentioned it a few times, but "Just a Guy" really made me mad, and I wanna go ahead and go into why. Warning: this post is gonna ramble a bit. There's some opinions, some plot analysis, some character analysis, and some ranting.

Now, first, I realize that Boom Sonic is the most egotistical version of Sonic we've had yet. But I just don't think he did anything wrong in calling Mike "just a guy." Sonic is better at hero-ing than your average Joe (or Mike), and he has every right to say so, especially if saying so means preventing someone from hurting themselves. Which is all Sonic was trying to do. And if the average Joe (or Mike) doesn't like being called "average," well, that's Joe's (or Mike's) problem, and Joe (or Mike) needs to just get over it. AND other people need to keep their noses out of it, as well.

And Sonic was absolutely right: he literally saves the village from Eggman every week (nice subtle meta joke there, btw), and not only does he rarely get any recognition or gratitude, but he often gets taken advantage of in Boom. It's making me wonder if maybe Boom Sonic's over-inflated ego might be the result of a lack of appreciation.

This, btw, is a huge difference between Boom and canon. Now, we know that in any universe, Sonic is highly conceited. But in canon, Sonic's conceit largely amounts to knowing how good he is, and being, perhaps, a little too vocal about it. But canon Sonic has no need to be recognized as a hero (Black Knight and Murder being two very good examples). Canon Sonic is "just a guy who loves adventure," he does what he does and doesn't care what others think of him.

Boom Sonic isn't like that (in fact, most AU Sonics aren't- I'll cover the others when I get the chance). Boom is very sedentary, very domestic. He's limited himself to this tiny island and its crazy townsfolk. He's not able to spread his wings (metaphorically, since hedgehogs usually don't have wings) and go all out. And since freedom is such a vital part of Sonic's character, I think the lack of it has created an emptiness inside him that he has attempted to fill by being more dependent on those around him. Dependence on others requires mutual respect and recognition. And nobody in the Boom-iverse does that.

And the worst thing about this whole episode is that no one actually learned anything in the end. Yes, I know, it's an animated sitcom, character arcs aren't a requirement. But the episode ends with Sonic making this whole big thing about, "Oh, Mike warned me about Eggman, he's such a hero." A simple "hey, thanks, Mike, lemme treat you to a burger," would have sufficed, but Sonic was so beaten down by all the hate towards him over the last few days that he felt like he had to bend over backwards to soothe everybody's ruffled fur and feathers. Quite frankly, Sonic was the only one who did nothing wrong, and he should have been the one receiving apologies, not dishing them out.

[separatist-apologist]

so apparently ali hazelwood was bullied off of insta because people were mad she's team gale... good to know acotar isn't the only batshit crazy toxic fandom, but my god people need to smoke some grass. this fandom discourse is like 15 years old and because she was joking with the mods on a panel she did where she called peeta useless the clip was taken out of context and she got massively harassed online to the point she deleted everything. i swear fandom culture has gotten so much worse in recent years. i feel like it was never this insane or serious prior to covid.

Yeah and what's genuinely so frustrating about the whole thing is that Ali is one of the few very outspoken authors for causes like Palestine. She also routinely uplifts marginalized creators on her IG, giving her followers access to authors they might otherwise never consider.

When I talk about performative activism in fandom, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Ali was doing the work people claim they want from their authors in their reader spaces, but they don't actually want this- the majority, anyway. All the people you see complaining that this author or that author won't speak out- like yeah well, why would they? This is how you treat people who do, it's all meaningless in this way because self-proclaimed liberals/leftists will still eat their own over fictional bullshit that doesn't matter. So fucking what if she thinks Peeta is useless. He's not real, he doesn't care. You know who is real? All the authors she supported and the families in Palestine who benefited from her actively speaking out and posting about different relief options for donation.

And people are still justifying this behavior- "its a sore spot for OG fans" is a real comment I saw last night and like. Get a grip. I mean that with no respect at all. Learn how to differentiate between opinions that are harmless that you disagree with and opinions that cause ACTIVE harm. I can't take this space seriously anymore, like wahhh we want authors and celebrities who stand behind a cause, but we will also actively devour them for minor missteps/literal nothing burgers that hurt no one.

Sorry for the rant but I'm just. I'm genuinely so tired of fandom spaces pretending like they care human rights when at the end of the day, these very loud voices absolutely do not. They care about performative outrage, definitely, and very often only want to participate if they get to be part of a brutal dogpile over, and I can't stress this enough, nothing

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 17/12

Anonymous asked: re: your responsive timeline theory: "There is nowhere, however huge the multiverse is, where Sam Vimes as he is now has murdered Lady Sybil. But the theory is quite clear. It says that if anything could happen without breaking any physical laws, it must happen. But it hasn't… So what people do matters! People invent other laws. What they do is important… It means the multiverse isn't infinite and people's choices are far more vital than they think." - night watch you and pterry seem to be on similar pages about this lol

Oh, nice! That's one of my favorite moments in all of Discworld, and I've brought it up before when discussing Paradox Space.

I'm pretty sure I was thinking about it when I came up with Responsive Timeline in the first place. Having someone reference it in an ask is a fun way to bring things full-circle.

@necrowyrm asked: Welcome Baaaaaaaack!!!!!!!! @whyequalsemexplusbee asked: I've literally had this date marked on my calendar, Act 6 by the new year let's goooooooo! @goldsleeps asked: it's very nice to have your particular pale green showing up on my dash again. @skaiamechanic asked: I am so happy to see your notifications again whenever you post. Welcome back, you're one of the main reasons I'm still on Tumblr, and good luck getting to Act 6! @elkian asked: Welcome back! I'm hype to see you post again :D good luck with your goal, but please take care of yourself! @nebularious asked: On the 1st day of Christmas, thewertsearch gave to me!

Thanks, everyone! I'm happy to be back, and I'm finding I have a lot more energy after taking a little break. Onwards to Act 6, indeed!

@morganwick asked: There literally, actually is a Burger King less than 40 minutes from Rose's house. That may sound simple and obvious, but when fans figured that out after this ran it practically blew their minds.

Her area is fairly remote - but there's a limit to how remote you can really be when you're living in the state of New York, right?

(^ she knows nothing about US geography)

@animation-recaps-by-sean asked: The troll sprites didn't automatically die at the end of the game, it's implied that Jack hunted them down and killed them

Wait, really? I had a little search through the comic there, but I can't find any statements implying that this is the case, unless they're in a walkaround somewhere.

Maybe I missed it - if so, send me a link and I'll take a look!

@catlikeascendant asked: idk if you go here but are there any ships you are interested in/think will be canonized? like it or not, it is a pretty important part of the story!

Thewertsearch dot tumblr dot com is a certified Rosemary nation. That's the only ship I'm really ride-or-die for, and the only one I am absolutely 100% sure will be canonized.

If you're interested, I made a full list of my ships back at the end of Hivebent, which I still mostly stand by - although I might need to rethink the ones involving Gamzee, specifically.

@relaxxattack asked: it’s so crazy that your “jump back in” point is perhaps the most fast paced and high stakes part of the entire comic. i absolutely love this arc, but i do NOT envy having to grapple with it directly after a hiatus!

I know, right?

Honestly, it's probably a good thing. The pacing is really energizing me - I haven't been able to blog at this pace since early Hivebent.

@morganwick asked: "The terms of a God Tier permadeath are defined according to the case of the individual - which implies that Heroic and Just are subjective, even to Sburb. It sounds like there might not be any ironclad rules, and that everyone's ruling works differently." Or as another liveblogger put it, when she got to the line in question: "In other words, 'by Andrew Hussie'."

Heh. That's what it ultimately boils down to, doesn't it?

I can grumble about 'canon' and 'meta shenanigans' until I'm blue in the face - but at the end of the day, the story will go in the direction that Hussie wants it to go. No ifs, ands or buts.

@krixwell asked: I actually think the "no lying" thing is essential to making Doc Scratch as intimidating as he is. He makes it pretty clear that (assuming it's real) it's a self-imposed challenge – he's handicapping his own manipulation just for fun, and he's still massively confident that what he's doing will work out exactly how he wants it to anyway. Normally such hubris would be a surefire sign of a character's imminent downfall, but because he's near-omniscient, we the readers know that his confidence isn't unfounded. We know he has very solid reasons to believe his main designs cannot not succeed, even with dark pockets here and there. I just think it does a fantastic job at selling the idea that his designs are inevitability itself, his guidance hopeless to struggle against, his words the rails on the one way track of the alpha timeline.

Hm. I do like that, I have to say.

It's fun picking away at Scratch's chatlogs, trying to find statements that are technically 'false' - but the fact that he presents himself as truthful and yet succeeds in his manipulations anyway is very strong characterization. And it's that much stronger if Hussie's intention was that Scratch really, truly never lies.

[kissesinthemist]

Meadowlark Headcanons

• Kingsley stresses the group out but the person most effected by it is Cole. Perrine worries about it obviously but they are mostly used to their shenanigans and Clementine trusts that they will keep themselves safe (I also like to think that they join Kingsley with some of their shenanigans)

• Because of this, I think Cole can’t spend much time alone with Kingsley without feeling like their about to have a heart attack

• Clementine enjoys collecting ceramic figurines, specifically of animals like cats, ducks, etc. Additionally, I think it would like collecting tea sets (mainly from second hand stores since money can be tight sometimes)

• Perrine rarely lets their hair down. The only time they let their hair down is when they shower or bathe. The rest of the time they have it braided (they are very tender headed because of this)

• I think Clémentine would really enjoy scrapbooking. I can imagine them being the one to take pictures of the others while they hang out and it creating beautiful collages to forever immortalize the memories. It’s an activity they do alone most of the time since I don’t think the others would be all that interested in scrapbooking (Maybe Cole but idk)

• This isn’t really a headcanon but Kingsley reminds me of Louise Belcher from Bobs Burgers. Maybe not as intense as Louise but still, whenever I picture Kingsley in my mind and how they would act I basically picture Louise

• Perrine usually has dirty hands since they do most of the dirty work around the sanctuary. They also have tough calluses on its hands because of this

• Adding onto the previous headcanon, Clémentine sees their hands and offers to clean them for it. Perrine is hesitant at first but Clémentine forces them in the end. I think they would also paint Perrine’s nails but it chips off quickly due to all the work they do

• I’m not sure if parts of our history is canon in Meadowlark but Kingsley seems like the type of kid to really like dinosaurs. Not just a normal amount, I mean a complete dinosaur nerd. Tbh I think they’d like any type of reptile, it truly doesn’t matter to them

• Perrine doesn’t like insects. They aren’t exactly afraid of them but if one were to crawl on them they’d feel uneasy. However it would rather die than admit this to anyone

• Also, if an insect were to ever get into the sanctuary, Perrine would be the one to deal with it (Mainly because they want to seem tougher)

• Cole has the worst spice tolerance out of the group. They probably find too much pepper spicy

• I might be projecting on this one but Cole would probably enjoy panna cotta. It’s fairly plain with just a slight sweetness to it so it seems like something they would like. However, they would take it plain without much if any berry sauce

• Adding onto the Clémentine and Perrine nail headcanon, I think Clémentine would throw spa days sometimes for the whole group. Facial masks, pedicures, haircare, etc. However I’m not sure how much the others would enjoy it

• Cole probably doesn’t mind too much, they just like spending time with Clémentine. Perrine goes along with it but they don’t like spending the whole day doing nothing so they get antsy after a while. Kingsley.. idk they probably get bored and run off to do their own thing

That’s all I have for now. I plan on posting modern headcanons for the characters soon so stay tuned for that. Goodbye for now <3

[thesassypadawan]

Puck Slut .5 (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: After meeting at a local sports bar, Hayden and you hit it off over your shared love of hockey. What starts off as an innocent friendship, soon progresses into a few casual dates. Which some, to no surprise, involve watching your teams face off against one another. Tonight’s date is a bit different. Even though your usual bet is in place, loser buys the winner dinner the next time you two go out. There’s a new, more interesting twist this time of… spice it up more. (Hope you lovelies also enjoy Puck Slut 1, Puck Slut 2, and Puck Slut 3.5!)

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Hockey, couch sex, taring of one lucky shirt and, as always…Hayden’s big dick.

Notes: An origin story for what will now be known as the Puck Slut series! Yes, I will officially be doing one for every time the Pens and Leafs face off!

Happy Hayden's (And Mine) Birthday Event! In honor of the man, the myth, the legend; I will be posting nothing but Anakin, Vader, and Hay stories all April long!

A little something for @myheartwillgoon2022!  As soon as I read your request, I knew that I had to make it into the Puck Slut Origin story! I really enjoyed writing this, it was truly a pleasure!  Hope you like it! And thank you for inspiring me to turn this into a series! ❤️

*Pregame*

- First of all, no hockey game would be complete without all sort of tasty snacks and a few ice-cold drinks. Especially ones that you may or may not have purposely picked, because they were someone’s faves.

- “Wow, you didn’t have to do all this; thanks.” Hay says so cutely, taking a sip from his bottle.

- You start to reply all sweetly. “Of course, it’s the least I could do; since you were nice enough to have me over.” Then teasingly add. “And you’re going to need some comfort food when the Leafs lose.”

- Gives your hip a playful pinch. “Oh, yeah? We’ll see who’s buying who dinner tomorrow night.”

- Squeaking a bit; you grab your own drink, along with a tasty treat. And plop ‘gracefully’ on the couch, somewhat close to him. “Which reminds me…I’d like to try that new burger joint.”

- You bet Hay’s going to pinch you again for that sassy, little remark. Snatching that goody from your hand, when you squeak and jump. What a butt.

- But he’s all adorable and smooth, wrapping an arm around you…pulling you right up beside him. “So, out of curiosity, would you want to make this game more interesting?”

- Besides getting to go out on another date with your ‘friend’… All right, you’ll take the bait. “Sure. What were you thinking?”

*Game Time*

- Normally you’d really be into the game. Cheering, hollering, cursing, the whole nine yards. But it’s kind of difficult to do so when your team hasn’t made a single goal and…you were sitting there completely, totally flustered.

- It was all because of the rules. Whenever your team scored a goal, you got a kiss from the other. Except…you had to "spice it up more" every time.

- The third period had just started with the Leafs up by three. And not even two minutes in…the siren went off. Seriously.

- A smug look crosses his face, and he looks down at you expectantly. “Well, angel; you know what to do.”

- Not really having any other ideas, you shyly climb into his lap. Resting your hands on his broad shoulders, pressing your lips softly against his. Little tongue slipping into his mouth; playing and wrestling with his. Just getting yourself more and more worked up.

- Before you’re able to crawl back out, Hay winds a strong arm around your waist. Holding you tightly against his chest. “Uh-uh, you’re not going anywhere. Leafs might score again.”

- Proceeds to make small talk about the game and feeding you snacks. Acting like this is the norm; like you’re not blushing mad crazy or wiggling from the growing bump pressing into your backside.

*Postgame*

- At last the final buzzer rang and the game ended, not before your team scored at the very last second.

- By then you’re so hot and bothered, that you’re sitting there impatiently. Hips shifting from side to side, pouting up at him. “Come on, Hay. My boys got one in. I want mine.”

- He flashes you that damn panty dropping smile. Big hands rubbing your arms soothingly, muttering in your ear. “You want a kiss, huh? All right, I’ll be sure to give you a real good one.”

- Lips crash together in a fiery kiss. Hands grabbing anything they could reach. Teeth nipping at one another hungerly. Hips bumping and grinding, passions just overboiling.

- Practically throwing you down onto the couch. He quickly removes his clothes before working on yours. Yanking them leggings and panties clean off, taring…taring your lucky team shirt. “What the-”

- “It’s fine, I’ll buy you a new one.” Tossing it aside like it was nothing, he lines himself up. Rubbing it up and down your wet slit, coating his fat head thoroughly. “Besides, you’d look better in blue and white anyway.”

- Plunging into your needy cunt, you two don’t waste a single minute. Your hips start rocking, his rolling back and forth. Massive cock stretching you; pulling out and thrusting so deep…you can’t help but whine each time he bottoms out.

- Hayden’s thick neck strains deliciously, slamming and hitting that lovely spot of yours repeatedly. Stealing your breath, making your whole body tense up. The dam inside you is about to break from all that pent up energy. “Gonna… Fuck…”

- “Yeah?” He grunts; pounding ruthlessly, tongue running across your collarbone. “Me too.”

- Biting harshly, you’re both sent spiraling. Gummy walls clenching around and clamping down on him. Dick twitching and filling you up with his hot cum. Moaning and groaning together.

- Taking a moment, the two of you try to catch your breath. Panting, grinning at each other like some love drunk fools. “See, told you I’d give you a real good one.”

- You bust out laughing, smacking him softly. “Shut up, Mountie Boy.” Before pulling him in for another ‘spicy’ kiss.

*Post Postgame*

- You don’t know how, but not only are you able to stand…you can also walk the next morning.

- So there you are, hovering over the stove. Busily making your new boyfriend’s 'mutually agreed upon' victory breakfast, wearing his very oversized Leafs shirt.

- Hay comes up behind, sporting only his extremely cheesy Leafs boxers. Pressing against you, one hand rests on your hip and the other snakes under your shirt…giving your breast a good squeeze. “I was right; you do look better in blue and white.”

- Shivering at his touch, a wicked grin spreads across your face. “Mmh, I don’t know…think you’d look better in mine…just saying.”

- You got a hard pinch for that…worth it.

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen

[alieninfunkyshirt]

Just little details I found while playing Kaveh's hangout event.

And just my thought about these two after Cyno's second story quest. Cuz I'm in awe and I can't stay silent.

Anyway, soooo

In Kaveh's hangout event, you have an opportunity to walk around Alhaithams home (which Kaveh also call home?? but i might be delulu).

There is a main entrance, which leads to a living room. Here, you can see a table, sofas (? not sure if it's the right word.), bookshelfs. But when I first played the main storyline, I missed some details in Alhaitham's house - back then, I didn't give it much thought. Well, there are a lot of books, books are everywhere, and... decorations? vases? Ok, whatever. Suddenly - a pair of musical instruments?

Oh, wait, the table? There are two pairs of cups (for coffee?) and wine glasses. And.. A lot of fruits. Maybe I'm delulu, but, in Kaveh's voice-over (in "favourite food", to be specific) was stated:

"Oh, I'll never say no to fresh fruit". Just like in a scene from Cyno's second story quest:

- "Can you see if the cookies are still on the table?" - "The are. And so are the fruits"

After that Kaveh appeared on a screen from the right side of the house, where Alhaitham's.. Office? Study room is located? Whatever. I'm sayng, besides that office, there is no other room in the right side of the house.

And, well, there isn't much about that office. It's.. Lots of books, a table, which also contains books both from outside and inside. Pretty much in Alhaitham's style.

But I wonder what's this thing on the left of Alhaitham's table? Kinda looks more like an architect's tool. Maybe it's not, but there is just another thing in this room that makes me think that way:

A smaller table with two seats🤨 , that has a coffee cup and a coffee maker and..of course, fruits. Wait a minute. A camera? It's... kinda out of place, isn't?

Why a camera tho? May I assume that this is Kaveh's camera, which he uses to take.. idk... references for his projects? Or, maybe, which he uses to get better undrstanding of enviroment for his projects?

Idk. But if Kaveh has his own room, why his (possible! maybe they are not) belongings (and fruits!!!) are located in Alhaitham's study room?

In Cyno's SQ 2 we had a scene with Kaveh and Alhaitham having a casual conversation (gossip flavored one 🤭🤭🤭). A the start of it, we have Kaveh looking for wine glasses, which he washed. So, there has to be a kitchen, right? Anyways

In the left side of Alhaitham's house we have two more doors. One with yet ANOTHER bookshelf and second, with a painting on a nearby wall. Let me assume that books are leading to Alhaitham's bedroom, and the painting is leading to.. Kaveh's room? (cuz in "A parade of providence" Kaveh stated, that he does have his own room) But that raises a very important question. where the HELL is the kitchen and bathroom? 🤨🤨🤨

ANYWAYS. It's just nice to see these two blended in eachother's life, since their first interaction in main story quest was.. erm... kinda uncomfortable to watch. But I should note that in the beginning, we didn't know much about both Kaveh and Alhaitham, and so we had zero clue on why they were acting like this.

Later we got Kaveh in the game and his voicelines, "A parade of Providence" event, and, oh my god, Cyno's 2nd story quest. It was my last straw, because now I want to make a comic about kavetham\haikaveh, but I still have to learn a lot about these two. Especially Kaveh. Cuz if I'm being honest, CURRENTLY I relate more to Alhaitham and the way his brain works. My past self, tho, would relate more to Kaveh and his feeling of guilt, struggles as an artistic and idealistic person, but those are quite dark times in my life, even my memory is kind of blurry\toned sown 💀💀💀 So it will take time to explore Kaveh's character.

In the end, thank you for coming to my YAPtalk and reading my "nothing burger" of a post. See you in my next drawing!

[ltwharfy]

Ten "Bob's Burgers" Rare Pairs I haven't written about (but might some day)

Finding out that @bobsrarepairweek is coming back later this summer made me think about some of my favorite "Bob's Burgers" rare pairs and particularly ones I haven't written for but kind of want to. Some of these are background canon ships that folks don't really write about, some of them are ships with small fandom followings, at least one is a nightmare of my own creation, but they all amuse me and I'd like to see more (or any) fics about them, so I might need to do it myself. The list is in no particular order:

Edith Cranwinkle/Harold Cranwinkle: "Bob's Burgers" fandom oughta be ashamed that AO3 isn't full of filthy, filthy smut about these two!!! Okay, maybe that is an extreme statement, but they are a very funny canon couple and, given their ages and how relatively little we know about them and their relationship, it seems like there are a lot of story possibilities out there for them that we will never see on the show.

Genecadero (Gene/Peter Pescadero): One of my favorite bloggers, @dianadeadwing, was big on this ship and coined the name and I am on board with this. I honestly think Peter Pescadero is one of the most underrated characters on the show- he's never really given a central role but whenever he's in an episode he's almost guaranteed to be doing something funny/weird/interesting. And he does seem to be one of Gene's closest non-sibling friends (after only Alex and Courtney). Heck, in the most recent episode Gene describes their relationship as "classmates with benefits" ("I don't know if I'm using that phrase correctly".)

Trickey (Trev/Mickey): Yeah, I don't think they've ever intereacted in canon, but as soon as this idea was put in my head (by @theangrypomeranian) I just can't help but love the idea of these two dumb, sweet, dumb, weird guys getting together. I just think it would be very funny. There was a like a week or two where I was obsessed with these two and made several posts about them and came up with several fic ideas which I never wrote. Maybe I need to revist those.

Roger Flanley/Judy: Do I need to say more? (I'm being told "yes" starting with "Who the hell are you talking about?") The IRS Agent and the touchtank aquarium owner from "Aquaticism". Honestly, I think that is one of the sweetest stories of the whole show. I just love seeing sweet but awkward middle aged people making a connection. (Surely this has nothing to do with me being a single awkward middle aged person...) Also, Roger is voiced by Ken Marino who is an Actor That Makes Everything Better in my book.

Rudlee (Rudy/Kaylee): My second favorite ship for both of them! It's cute and nerdy and sweet and I love them both...but, Roudise (and to much lesser extent Arnlee) is so close to my heart that I doubt I will ever do anything with them. Fortunately, Babs did.

Aunt Gayle/Sylvester Stiebltiz: This is the "nightmare of my own creation". They are not an OTP. But I think it's almost certain that they would go out on a couple of hilariously bad dates at some point. They are both desparately, pathetically single and they are bound to encounter each other at some point, but their quirks really wouldn't complement each other all. Like, they are both messes in very different ways. It won't succeed, but I feel like it will happen.

Jen the Babysitter/Christopher the Notary: I adore Jen, and I thought it was sweet when they gave her an awkward little romance in "Ferry on My Wayward Bob and Linda". I mean, who doesn't love a good notary/notaroo to lovers story?

Gene Jacket! (Gene/Tammy): So, I started out shipping this as a joke just because I want more non-portmanteau ship names and that scene from "Adventures in Chinchilla Sitting" gives a us a great one for them. But I have sort of started thinking about it more seriously. Like, I imagine that if they are older and Gene starts actually getting popular as a local musician, Tammy would be drawn to him (because shallow), and he would kind of be dismissive of her because that is his way of interacting with her ("we get it, you have email!") and that would just make her more interested and then...stuff happens and they get together? Well, obviously there's a reason the story hasn't actually been written. But I do find it kind of weird that there is more shipping of Tammy with any of the Belcher kids. They all have such fun dynamics with her! Like, they all insult her but in their own unique ways. So, I'll round out the list with:

Tammy/Tina

Tammy/Louise

[dr-spectre]

Hello everyone, wanna give a quick update because I have some important stuff to share.

So basically I've been thinking about this for a little bit now and... i wanna start slowing down. I look back at the posts I've made and I've realised that I've done a LOT of posts over the past several months.

IM NOT GONNA DISAPPEAR DONT WORRY!!! I won't be gone!!! I'm not taking a giant break or anything. I just need to allow myself to recharge a bit. Because I feel myself actually getting tired and burning out and i wanna prevent an actual burn out from happening.

When I look at my inbox and I see the asks I get, sometimes I go "man... I really don't wanna respond to this... it'll be too much mental effort. But... the person might get upset or feel hurt that I didn't respond..." that shit weighs a ton on me. It's not to say that peoples asks are bad, HELL NO!! I love getting most of them! It's just that... I'm tired and sometimes I don't know how the hell to respond to something.

Another reason why I wanna slow down is because well... I kindaaa had a mental crisis... I've been feeling very... numb and angry? recently? which is kinda weird considering that Shadow Generations came out and Splatoween is around the corner. Yet i... feel nothing.

I feel my love for Callie slowly dying. It's just that... the common and gross takes about Hypno Callie are starting to really get into me and I'm feeling it's effects. When i see Callie i don't go "CALLIE!!!!!!!!" anymore, i go "Callie....." It's making me feel sad and when i see Callie i think about those takes. They flood into my head.... i feel so childish and dumb... and that i should accept what's "canon" instead of being some obsessive autistic loser.

I don't know what even happened. I think i hate the Splatoon community and youtubers HAHAHAHAHA!!!!

I've also started to feel numb because when i tend to become very passionate and excessive, i then get told off for it. It's like im always pushed down. So if they want me to shut up... fine... i'll shut up. I'll be a grey nothing burger.

Anyways, i'll see you guys later.

[outrunningthedark]

Nosy anon here, I didn't know you were a buddie before. What made you stop shipping, if you don't mind me asking? I've never shipped them and aren't completely on board for Tommy cuz we've seen so little but at least it's canon and it looks like we are getting more so my opinion might change.

Lol, yeah, it's something I'm not ashamed of because I can admit I had it wrong the whole time. I got into fandom at the beginning of season four because of the Buckley-Diaz fam, told any and everyone that #ChristopherDiazHasTwoDads even if canon never confirmed it. Kept the optimism alive through all of season four, season five, and the very, very start of season six. (Yes, I tried to convince myself the "family dinner" and couch talk was actually going somewhere after the premiere.) But then...we got to 6x04, when Eddie yelling after Buck on the bike turned out to be a nothing burger. And Buck went through with the sperm donor request without talking to Eddie. And Buck wasn't really involved in Chris's teenage angst. And something just...shifted. That quickly. I started to read interviews with my own eyes instead of the parts I had seen re-posted 10x on tumblr. I started to form my own opinions without reading other blogs first to gauge their reaction. And everything I read from that point on told me Buddie wasn't happening. Because Kristen, unlike Tim, doesn't beat around the bush. She doesn't fuck with people's perspectives. She told us exactly what Buck and Eddie's dynamic was - a friendship - and to tamper expectations about Buddie in general because she was trying to highlight different dynamics. (For example, we knew in advance that the coma episode would focus heavily on Bobby and then Chim's guilt as opposed to Eddie having a Super Important Scene.) I lost "friends" over that because they didn't want to see my "negativity", but here we are over two years later and those people are finally starting to understand what I've been saying the whole time because despite a new network, and different voices getting added to the discussion (like Ryan's), the message remains the same. 🤡

[phightinghottakes]

Might be a mid take tbh but my take is: Soda is far too harsh on the wrong side of the fandom. Or, well, the fandom at all but my point stands.

She seems outright offended by.. headcanons and jokes, it feels. Like the Shuriken eating bugs thing? I'm pretty sure that was a joke/bit. Soda's reaction felt odd, like she didn't quite get that it's just.. the fandom doing as a fandom does.

Overall Soda is very critical of the fandom for. Being a fandom. She frequently posts (on bluesky, at least, the only social of hers I follow) about how the fandom mischaracterises, misconstrues, and generally fudges lore and characterization. And yet... she makes no effort to fix it! The lore is kept locked up tight, an active dialogue rewrite means our mischaracterisations are accidental in the first place, and seriously, what are we meant to make of the vague mess tossed at us that loops back and contradicts itself and fudges itself?

I love phighting. The lore is (probably) amazing. The characters are all plenty fascinating and fun to explore. But damn, getting told I'm plain wrong for putting my own condiments on the nothing burger of proper explanation we have currently is getting tiring.

~ redshift anon (claiming that or smth in case I ever drop a take in here again)

I think it boils down to the fact that, to my knowledge, none of the devs are writers, [In a sense that they've had specialized schooling for it.] Nor have experience with being responsible for a fandom.

It can be hard to tell the story you want even with training, it can get infuriating when people misunderstand and misconstrue your work despite your best efforts. I've had instances in workshops where my pieces have been so horribly misunderstood that it physically hurts.

Even if people are just being silly and joking, it can suck to see something you poured your soul into so mischaracterized–even if you recognize and understand that other people don't have the same knowledge of the characters like you do.