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One thing about Obsession (2026) that I enjoyed was that it almost asks you to feel empathy for the entity possessing Nikki as well as the real one. Like, obviously the things she's doing are horrific and fucked up, but I think the scene where Bear is asking her to "just be Nikki!" and she eventually just desperatly screams "I can't be Nikki!" does a really good job of showcasing the entity's inner feelings. She's been created with the sole purpose of loving this guy more than anyone else but no matter how perfect it is or how much he claims to love her, its not her that he loves, its Nikki. And any time she stops pretending to be Nikki, he reacts (albeit rightfully) with disgust and horror. She can't be Nikki because Nikki would never love Bear, and so Bear will never love her.
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who gave bobby his first camera? and what do you think made bobby enjoy photography and videography? is there someone he admired?
bobby's dad gave him his first camera.
a canon AE-1, secondhand, bought from a pawn shop when bobby was eleven. bobby's dad was an engineer by degree and a photographer by heart, the kind of man who got pushed into something respectable by his parents and spent every weekend proving the passion survived the compromise. darkroom in the garage. prints drying on clotheslines strung between the rafters. bobby sitting on a stool watching his father's hands in the red light, watching images surface in the chemical bath, watching the closest thing to magic he'd ever seen performed by the person he loved most in the world.
his dad taught him composition before he taught him how to hold the camera. “see the light first, bobby. the camera's just how you prove the light was there.” bobby was twelve when he shot his first roll of film and his dad pinned every print to the garage wall and stood back and looked at them with genuine pride.
bobby's chest nearly caved in from the warmth of it.
his dad told him to be brave. to follow the thing that made his hands itch. “don't do what i did, kid. don't let someone else pick your life for you and spend thirty years trying to steal it back on weekends.”
and then he learned his dad has been fucking someone who wasn't his mom for years, and he moved out on a wednesday with a sigh and a pat on bobby’s head. the garage darkroom went dark and bobby was fourteen. the man who taught him to see the light was gone and the camera sat in bobby's closet for four months untouched because picking it up meant picking up his father's hands. his father's eye. his father's voice saying “see the light first” while simultaneously proving that the man who said it couldn't be trusted with anything, least of all the people who loved him.
bobby started smoking that year. started the shell. started the arm's-length thing that would eventually cost him you. the blasé, the smirk, the cool-boy armour that looks like personality and is actually just one big scar tissue.
but he picked the camera back up.
four months of it gathering dust in his closet and one morning bobby opened the door and looked at the canon AE-1. he hated it and needed it in the same breath. the camera was his father's legacy and his father's betrayal and the only object in the world that was both a wound and a tourniquet.
bobby picked it up, loaded a roll of film, and walked outside and shot the street and the sky and terrence's stupid face and the light on the neighbor's fence. and it hurt. every frame hurt like hell. every click of the shutter sounded like his father's voice and bobby shot through the hurt because the alternative was silence and the silence was worse.
the camera became the one thing he kept from before. the one surviving artifact of the version of bobby who trusted people and believed in things and sat on a stool in a red-lit garage watching a man he worshipped pull images from the dark. everything else from that era got buried. the openness, the softness, the easy vulnerability of a boy who hadn't learned yet that the people you love the most are the ones who leave the biggest holes.
the camera survived because the camera was the only part of his father that never lied to him. the lens sees what's there. that’s it. the film records what happened. no infidelity, no broken promises, no wednesday morning departures. just light and truth.
bobby photographs people he loves because his father photographed people he loved and then left them.
bobby will not leave. bobby will stay behind the lens and keep shooting until the film runs out, and then he'll reload and keep going because the camera is a promise. the camera says, “i was here and i saw you and the light was good and i'm not going anywhere.”
some things you keep because they’re worth keeping. and some you lose because you forget to look at them beyond the lens.
the purring attempt and then the tags on the bikini post of bobby telling him to chill out and stop making alien noises in public got me thinking about poly au. both her AND bobby trying to purr(maybe even arguing over who gets closer to the proper noise or who’s technique is better) meanwhile bb blue screens cause he’s got two loveable idiots trying to communicate his happy noise back at him. i love the poly au cause like yay everyone is happy. the idea of them eventually being comfortable enough to be sweet and goofy as a trio is so cute.
i’m torn on if bb would pick a fav, be a proper judge and list the pros and cons of each attempt or if he would just pull a “ur both lovely” to avoid the wrestling match that would follow picking a fav
sorry for the jumble speak i just thought both those moments were so cute
bobby makes it a competition because bobby makes everything a competition.
he's sitting on the couch practicing his rumble. this low, chest-deep vibration that sounds like a lawnmower trying to seduce someone but y'know, sexy. and you're cross-legged on the floor doing your chipmunk-engine impression and both of you are glaring at each other between attempts.
"mine's closer."
"yours sounds like a garbage disposal."
"yours sounds like a broken washing machine."
"at least mine has BASS—"
and BB is sitting between you on the couch with his hands in his lap, looking back and forth with that slow bewildered head tilt.
because you're both making sounds at him. with your human vocal cords. sounds that are almost words in his frequency. garbled, clumsy, adorable approximations of the noise his body makes when he's happy. and his borrowed brain is trying to translate and failing and trying again and the processing face he's making is the funniest thing either of you has ever seen.
"what is—" he starts, his head tilts further. "bobby, are you trying to say—"
"shh, i'm concentrating. this is hard work."
bobby tries again. deeper this time, more controlled. he's actually been practicing in the shower and the refined version is genuinely closer. close enough that BB's pupils dilate, and his head tilt shifts from confused to interested. his own purr kicks in, answering bobby's rumble with the real thing, and the resonance between the two of them makes the couch vibrate.
"oh," BB breathes, his voice dropping, his eyes going half-lidded. "oh, that's—you're saying—" his gaze locks onto bobby with a predatory focus that was not there three seconds ago. "do that again."
bobby, who has no survival instincts, does it again. louder.
BB's jaw tightens, his pupils blow wide. the purr coming out of him shifts register (from happy to hungry) and you watch him lean toward bobby with that coiled, intent stillness that you both know means someone is about to get pinned to a surface.
"bobby," you drawl. "I think you just said something dirty in entity."
"what? no, I was just—"
"you should both do it," BB suggests, his voice silk, looking between you. "at the same time."
you look at bobby. bobby looks at you. BB is looking at both of you like you're a meal he hasn't decided how to eat yet.
and no one could have predicted that refining the technique would flip a switch in BB. that getting closer to the real sound would register in his frequency as flirtation. as proposition. as two mates calling to him in his own language. nobody could have seen that coming. certainly not bobby, who's now pinned to the couch cushions by an entity who is purring so hard the windows are rattling and murmuring, "say it again, say it again" against his throat while you watch from the floor in delight.
I totally get why they added more tension into the Emerson's family dynamic in the musical, because they had to worry about those pesky little things like Plot and Themes, but it will never change how near and dear to my heart the portrayal of that family is in the original movie is.
Like?? Michael jokingly chasing Sam through their new house, while Sam yells "He's gonna get me!" to their mom. The way they casually stand close to each other and Michael puts his arm around Sam. Lucy not shaming Sam for needing her to still check the closet for him and making a lighthearted joke about it instead. Lucy letting her 15 year old son sleep in bed with her without question, right after he'd ruined her date just because she thought he got scared by a comic book. Lucy's "aren't we friends anymore?" when Michael's all moody. Michael's strained "I'm your brother, Sammy!" when he's stuck outside the window, and that being what convinces Sam to pull him inside, and the way they hug each other on the floor after.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
how about your boyfriend!bobby getting lost in the backrooms for a while and then coming back looking... different. acting different. you're so sure it's still him. there is no way someone out there can look as similar. his voice is the same. his body is the same. and yet... the color of his hair is not how you remembered. his eyes look almost inhumane. he's looking at you weirdly.
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