How Often Do Normal People Think About The Surface Level Similarities Between Maria Robotnik And Tails

What’s that feeling when you start experiencing *A Media* and you just… know.

Like you just know that the moment you finish it you’re going to consume every piece of content and fanfic vaguely related to the thing.

But you haven’t finished it yet? So you’re just vibrating with the excitement while finishing the thing so you can finally experience more of the thing through other people and let to hyperfixation finally overtake you.

listen I love me some good time travel fix-it

but a time travel fuck-it up more…

🤌

you ever get so drunk that you end up plotting out a 6+ season story arc for a “How I Met Your Mother” style sitcom starring Sonic the Hedgehog characters?

Because I’ve done it twice now and I’m starting to wonder if the universe is trying to tell me something…

Tumblr is great except for when you’re scrolling through your dash daydreaming about your favorite blorbos holding hands and doing cute shit and then like a eighteen wheeler from left field you’re hit by a post for an obscure ship you haven’t thought about since the before times.

Nowhere else is my dash a cement mixer of every hyperfixation I’ve had since I was in middle school and I think that’s great.

Do it!!! By the end though you’ll wish it was a lot longer than 15 minutes… :(

maybe i should start watching dark beginnings huh

haunting the narrative, but like, in a literal sense.

Torturing the author and existing in the spaces between pages. Breaking the forth wall to call them a cuck for trying to kill me.

Is that anything

This is a callout post to disorganized and sleepy bitches (me)

Delete those random alarm times from your phone. You aren’t gonna need to reuse that alarm for 2:37pm anytime soon. I promise

Can't get over the thought of Link accidentally revealing his true feelings to Sidon because he hasn't gotten a hang of his new alien hand, compounded by the heightened emotions of learning Sidon is engaged.

PLEASE let me know if this is anything...

I have been obsessing about @skippyin's Lost in New York AU. So much so that I made a short 1-hour writing dump about Luigi trying to find and rescue Bowser Junior from Brooklyn. Thought I'd share!

(Definitely not head-cannoning Luigi as Junior's surrogate second parent. Dear god what has the Bowuigi done to me 🥲).

---

Luigi was sweating. It was that cold, clammy sweat that clung to the skin and made him feel sick. Or was that just the sinking feeling in his gut, screaming at him that something was irreparably wrong?

He didn’t have the precious seconds to waste on determining which.

“Junior!” The young koopaling’s name launched from his lips, only to be drowned out by cars rolling down the overpass overhead. It was so loud – too loud. Nothing like the plumber’s peaceful life in the Mushroom Kingdom.

But Luigi came back for a purpose – da Dio he would accomplish it.

“Junior!”

He was going to bring the kid back. Kicking and screaming – most likely – but he’d get Junior out of here and back to his father, regardless of the young prince’s desires. An uncharacteristic confidence had overtaken the plumber. Luigi’s resolve was unshaken as he trekked through his old hometown, scouring the shadows which wrapped the streets in the ephemeral glow of dusk.

Luigi paid no mind to the rickety old apartment complex at the edge of the block, where he and Mario had made many a house call, back in a time when he had called this foreign place home. He didn’t think about the greasy pizza place on the corner where two broke bachelors could find a cheap meal; the old high school a couple streets down hardly registered.

“Junior!” No, the only thought in Luigi’s mind was to find the little koopaling. Find him quickly, before he was lost entirely, disappearing into the big city; find him fast, before anything else could happen.

…

…

…

But by the time he did, it was already too late.

Luigi had nearly passed the alleyway when he heard it. Sniffling. The earnest attempt of a child holding back his tears. The human leaped to attention as his eyes tracked the sound to their source, spotting a figure curled up in a black hoodie.

“Junior!” Luigi scrambled into the alley, to the aid of the young koopaling. The sniveling and shaking body hardly seemed to notice him; bright red eyes bristling with tears as Junior tried to bury his face into his sleeves. Acting on instinct, the plumber reached out to comfort the child, only for Junior to flinch away from him.

Luigi retreated his hand. With a frown etched across his face, he carefully looked over the young prince. He didn’t look injured, per se, but there was certainly plenty of evidence to some sort of scrap: the backpack he was wearing to cover his shell looked battered, with a few spikes poking out from its holes. His yellow shorts were stained with dirt at the knees. And…

…and his signature paintbrush lay, snapped in two, at the koopaling’s feet.

“Aye…” Luigi’s heart shattered in his chest. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of laughter, coming from a group of teenagers. But all the plumber’s focus was on the young child in front of him. “Mio bambino…” Unable to touch the crying koopaling, Luigi’s own vision began to fog.

“Can we just…” Junior spoke between sobs as his little act began to burst. “I don’t like it here,” he cried loudly. Luigi could do nothing but watch as the tears flowed freely down the prince’s face, the koopaling clamping his jaw tight to hold back anymore cries.

There it was.

There was the Brooklyn Luigi remembered.

The city that chewed up and spat out its inhabitants; that made people feel small and powerless. Just because it could. Just because it wanted to.

The Brooklyn Luigi had never wanted to return to.

The Brooklyn Luigi had so desperately wanted to keep Junior safe from.

“Sì mio figlio,” he extended his arms out to the young prince; Junior leaped into the plumber’s embrace as the tears continued to pour. A wet snout smeared against his overalls as Luigi picked up the turtle-shelled child to hold in his arms, hardly noticing the sharp spikes scratching against his wrists through the fabric of the bag.

“Let’s go home.”

th