#christ i need to yap less

[monochromemoomin]

jamie doesn’t like mushrooms :(

[emmcfrxst]

I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.

Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…

(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut

You don’t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.

“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.

“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.

“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.

“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.

“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.

You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.

“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.

“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.

You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.

“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.

“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.

“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.

“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.

“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.

“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.

“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.

“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.

You were going to be okay.

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][crack][fluff][reader's their karma][inc. Michael Carter; Lex Luthor; Clark Kent][Lex is like, a lil' inappropriate but not much][Clark is a meet-cute][drabble][multi-shot]

Interviews have always been Michael's favourite part about being a superhero. Alongside the adoring stares and the lingering touches of pretty journalists, Michael got to partaking in his favourite hobby:

Yapping about himself.

"I've got an interview on Titty Talk." Michael boasts, gloved hands resting on his carved hips, muscles bulging in his freshly dry cleaned suit, smelling like fabric softener and expensive tastes. Golden strands perfectly styled, curtain bangs framing his face perfectly, glittering blue eyes and the rest of the Justice League could swear he wasn't THAT tan yesterday.

"Don't do it." Bruce barely looks up from the computer, gloved fingers flying across the holographic keyboard, Victor standing at his side before grinning down at Bruce. "Nah, Batman. Let him learn."

Bruce let's out a little huff, conceding and internally amused at the fact that Michael would willingly be emasculated on national television, but the twinkle of amusement in his eyes is hidden by his cowl.

Victor glances at Michael, sepia skin a perfect contrast with shiny silver, and he grins, dimples deepening in chiselled cheeks.

"I wanna get one last look before you lose your nuts." Victor snorts.

"She's gonna eat you alive." Barry interjects with a giggle, an apple clutched in his hand.

"No she won't." Michael dismisses them with ease, plopping down into one of the seats at the table and glancing lazily towards where Bruce and Victor are gathering data on the next mission.

"She will." Clark drawls, stepping into the hall with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, worn and half of the Doc McStuffins caricature scuffed away from years of use. "You think I need more than 5 minutes to end a space fight?" He lets out a scoff. "I take a while longer. That way, I'm late to the interview and she doesn't wanna do it anymore."

Clark brings up a hand, a calloused finger tapping his own temple.

"Weaponized incompetence."

"It can't be that bad." Michael huffs.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Booster Gold, are you aware that your suit is actually orange and blue, instead of gold and blue?"

This is bad.

This is really bad.

You're giving Michael an identity crisis and he just sat down, muscular hands rub along the bulging muscles of his thighs as he shifts in his seat, gloved fingers interlocked and clasped. And he hums.

"Uh... It was hard to get something accurately gold so I picked this shade. It's bright, it's bold, it's Booster." He gives you one of those dazzling smiles, dimples popping and teeth glinting in the lovely (and flattering) light of your studio.

It's less bright than any other and it makes him a bit more comfortable than he thought light could ever.

"Shein has realistic gold shades."

"Well, I can't buy my hero suit from Shein, now can I?"

"Do you have something against Asian-owned businesses, Mr Booster Gold?"

Michael's mouth falls open. But no. No, he won't get caught off guard by you. He trained for this.

And by trained, he means he took that vigorous pep talk from Victor before coming on here.

It wasn't useful but by God, it was inspiring.

'Don't look her in the eye. She will emasculate you. If you do look her in the eye, she'll take that as a challenge and emasculate you. Don't try to charm her. Play to the audience, not to her. You'll never play to her. Ever.'

Now that Michael's looking back on it....

It wasn't inspiring at all.

That's the kind of advice you give someone who feeds tigers in a zoo.

"Uh, no. I'm just against fast fashion." Michael answers with a smile. "Most of the clothing ends up in landfills, getting burnt and harming the ecosystem."

He's doing good.

He's doing good.

Michael glances towards the clock on the wall and his fist clenches the tiniest bit.

'Jesus fucking Christ, it's only been 3 minutes!'

Michael continues to stare at you as you speak and he's zoning out. He knows he shouldn't but when you're not berating him, you're not half bad.

Pretty eyes that lower to read the questions and notes on the pastel clipboard in your lap, long lashes that flair in just the right ways and perfect, pouty lips that purse when you're trying to come up with how to word your sentences.

No wonder you're so fucking popular.

You're absolutely candid.

You say whatever you want, as soon as it comes to your mind.

Michael shifts in his seat, his impressive height giving him the lovely advantage of catching a glimpse at your clipboard. Only to find the page completely empty, instead, having a little dick drawn onto the page instead.

It's adorable and Michael's lips twitch as he watches you absentmindedly draw the accessories.

A Santa hat, little boots and gloves.

"Give it a belt." Michael hums softly and he watches your hand still, eyes glancing up at him and for the first time ever, he watches the way those eyes fucking shift. And it's like slow motion to him.

Watching the way they soften, the way your lashes fan out so perfectly to frame your eyes. Those pretty, fucking doe eyes.

But it's as gone as soon as it was there, being replaced with the Cunk of superheroes. And you've got that blank, empty stare once again and you shift, crossing your legs over one another.

"Rumour has it, you're in a committed relationship." Your voice breaks the silence in the room, and you lean against the back of your chair, your snowy cable knit sweater looking so cozy and demure against the pastel shades of your seat. "Are you?"

'Finally, a normal question.'

Michael smiles one of those dazzling smiles, letting out a charming chuckle before carding his fingers through his hair and he shifts in his seat, muscular thighs spreading and flexing.

"No, I'm not."

"I can see why." You mutter under your breath and you nearly let out an actual laugh when you watch the way Michael's face falls. Brows relaxing, lips parting just a bit as he stares at you.

You can swear you watch the sparkle leave his eyes.

"Hmph."

That's the only sound that leaves Bruce as he brings his mug to his lips, the bold printed '#1 Dad' hiding the smile that threatens to break his composure.

Costume clad heroes all surround Bruce's seat, multiple sets of eyes locked on the screen, all collectively taking a sip of coffee, each having their own mug.

Each time Diana lifts her mug, the grinning face of Zapp Brannigan peeks at the screen, cocky grin greeting everyone and each time Barry moves to take a slurp, Megan Fox's sultry face makes its appearance.

Barry does a double take, glancing at the mug in Victor's hand before letting out a snort.

"What's with the cup?" Barry snickers and Victor examines his mug. "Dave Chappelle as Batman."

"Is it true that you are a closeted homosexual?" You question with a hum and Michael slumps in his seat, dragging a hand over his features.

Only 20 more minutes, he should be able to soldier through this.

"No. I'm not." He hums. "While I support the LGBTQ community, I'm not a member. I like women."

"Then why don't women like you?"

Michael's trying hard to not quit this interview halfway. He would've done so already if you weren't giving him that face that makes it look like you're asking genuine questions, your face framed by your hair and your eyes wide and expectant.

"Women like me." Michael reassures with a self-assured scoff. "They like me a lot."

"Where are the women who like you?" You question, before glancing around the studio. "Where?"

This is antagonizing and Michael's not kidding when he says he can hear the laughter of the other people who work on the set. Snickers and giggles alike, and brilliant eyes narrow at you when your lips part again.

Michael's expecting a question that would actually make him quit halfway.

But all you do, is let out a sneeze.

It doesn't sound like a cute kitten sneeze, or one of those Disney sneezes. It's masculine and raw, quiet but very clearly happening.

"Bless you."

Michael's voice is a gentle timbre, low and inviting, as he tilts his head as he watches you before crossing his arms across his chest, biceps bulging and flexing with the motion.

And your mouth goes dry.

"We're gonna take a quick ad-break before continuing the rest of the interview." You give the camera a polite and gentle smile, and when the director yells 'cut!', you pull the earpiece out of your ear and you let out an exhausted breath, lips parting to let out a hot puff.

And the lights dim for a moment, before you glance towards Michael, regarding him with a cursory sweep over his body.

Tall, muscular and gorgeous, toned like a Greek God.

"The questions are gonna get worse, by the way." You hum at him, your lips twitching into a grin.

And Michael melts at the sight.

"Yeah, whatever."

Lex understands that he's a very, very bad man.

He does evil things.

But nothing warrants the fact that his new P.A is a complete and total pain in the ass.

He's attempted to fire you 4 times already, but each time, you just come back and he finds you seated in that office right next to his, the glass wall separating the two of you.

The worst part about you, is the fact that you don't even pretend to look busy.

You just... Sit there. Clicking keys and moving your mouth around on that stupid Chicken Little mouse pad.

Lex let's out a breath, steely eyes shutting for a brief moment before he clicks the button on his desk, watching you shift in your seat as you wait for instructions.

"A coffee, please. You know how I take it."

"Your coffee's on the way, Mr Luthor."

You've got such a sweet voice, the kind of voice that he likes having relay his day's schedule to him. Pencil skirt, silk blouse and perfect heels. Sometimes, you wear tailored dress pants and God, it just does something to h—

Lex watches you, his lips parting in pure, unfiltered shock as he watches you pick up the to-go coffee cup on your desk, taking one last sip of your coffee before walking down the passage and you enter his office. Placing the coffee on his desk, and you give him one of those lovely smiles.

"This cup is half." Lex comments, staring at you through his lashes, expression slowly hardening because how the fuck do you have this level of audacity.

"I got you half a cup." You lie. "Call it assistant's initiative to protect your sleeping habits."

"This coffee's cold."

"So you can drink it faster. A chilled coffee for a man on the go."

"This coffee was yours."

"I'm a woman on the go."

Lex has to admit it. You'd make an excellent politician with the way you talk shit so easily, the skill comes to you naturally.

And Lex let's out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get me an actual coffee."

When you do return with his coffee, steaming and hot in your filled hands. One of those plastic little rowers that they give you to stir your to-go coffee, a doughnut, a plastic container with your pinkie tucked into the hole that pierces the tabs you use to open it up and your car keys between your lips.

You set everything down on Lex's desk, and he lets out a hum.

"Did they stir it?"

And he could actually catch flies with how wide his mouth falls open when you pop off the lid of his coffee, and stir it with your pinkie.

Worst part is, it's the pinkie of the hand that's holding the spoon-thing, and you lick your digit, nodding your head.

"It's good."

Lex tries to make the least use of you through his day, he really does. For fuck's sake, he even went to the printer himself. Ignoring the gawking gazes because why would he have to do menial tasks himself when he has an assistant.

Lex gives a practiced grin to the man in the seat across from him.

A potential client who's been here for exactly 8 minutes and Lex's easy going facade nearly shatters when he hears that beep that indicates you're using the intercom.

"Mr Luthor, your 10 o'clock is here." Your voice is the epitome of usefulness but God, you're the complete opposite. And Lex glances at you through the glass, finding you staring back at him expectantly and he presses the button on his own desk.

"I can see that. Because he's in my office."

Lex's frustration bleeds into his tone, annoyance and seething temper threatening to take him over but he can't get up.

Mainly because your insolence gives him an erection that shames the socialites that Lex usually finds himself alongside in the tabloids.

Painfully aching and dampening the taut fabric of his boxers, but Lex continues the meeting with ease, trying not to glance in your direction as manicured nails tap on the keys of your mouse as you play....

What are you playing?

Stretching his arms overhead, Lex leans back in his seat in an attempt to peek at your screen and he merely catches a glimpse of himself in Sims. The sight which brings a cocked smile to his lips before turning his attention back to the client.

The meeting goes well, exceptionally so and it's only when Lex rises and has his hand gripped in a firm handshake when he realises he's wasted an hour of his time.

"That assistant of yours." He whistles. "I'd love to break her in."

Lex's grip increases tenfold, the veins of his hand and forearm bulging beneath his lightly bronzed skin and he runs his tongue over his teeth.

And he makes a certain tilt of his head that has Mercy peeking her head into his office, monotonous expression indicating that she already knows what her job will be.

"Mercy will escort you to the parking lot." Lex gives a pinched smile.

It's only when Lex receives that simple 'thumbs up' emoji, that he relaxes in his seat, head tipping back and he lets out an exhausted groan.

And he reaches for his coffee, his palm suspiciously cold and he lets out a sigh.

Before taking a drink of your cold, half-empty coffee and being able to taste the hint of your lipbalm on the mouth piece just makes Lex's bloodflow problem so much worse.

And that beep rings out again.

"If you keep having that erection, I'm gonna call HR."

"Blow me."

"Right to HR!"

"What— what is this?"

Clark's eyes narrow at the light being switched on, brilliant blue eyes squinted as he stares at Jon, the boy shifting uneasily on his feet as he stares at his father.

"I have a project due tomorrow." Jon murmurs sheepishly, big blue eyes avoiding the stare of his father as Clark slips his glasses on. He doesn't need them but he likes the feel of something perched on his nose with it's legs tucked nearly behind his ears.

Clark let's out a deep breath, carding thick, calloused fingers through thick, raven strands before he glances at the bedside clock.

"Jon, it's 11. At night." Clark grunts out, shifting beneath the covers and he sits back against the headboard, rubbing his temples with frustration.

A particularly gruelling mission left Clark with a harsh headache, with even worse lethargy to accompany the throbbing pain in his scalp.

"I know, but I forgot but the teacher's mean and I don't want her to give me a 0." With each conjunction, Jon's voice gets weaker, tinier, eyes welling up with tears as he sniffles, balled fist rubbing at his nose and his eyes.

Clark let's out a deep breath. Removing his legs from beneath the thick covers, and slipping on his slippers, heading to the attached ensuite and having his late night pee prematurely. The door's slightly ajar, the light of the bedroom peeking into the bathroom just enough for Clark to see properly.

His headache renders him to the weakest species ever.

Human.

"What's the project?" Clark hums sleepily, his hands underneath the running water before he dries them, shuffling back into his bedroom.

"I can't remember..." Jon mutters, nearly flinching at the heavy breath that leaves Clark. A sigh that only an exhausted and overworked single parent can give.

"What's your teacher's email?"

From: clarkkent31@yahoo.com

Subject: 4th grade project

Good evening, I hope this email finds you well. Apologies for the late disturbance.

I have an enquiry about the 4th grade, class B project.

What is it?

You stare at the email on your screen, letting out a little huff of a breath before answering that they need to make a volcano, seeing as the history curriculum are doing a section on Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii.

Clark let's out a breath, eyelids heavy and the sleeves of his robe are rolled up to his elbows, muscular forearms flex and fingers are covered in translucent sludge as he takes yet another strip of newspaper, layering it one over the other. He glances at Jon from the corner of his narrowed eyes, the 10 year old shifting on his feet, watching as his father completes his project for him.

"Plug in the hairdryer, please." Clark hums softly, watching as Jon basically scrambles to plug in the hairdryer, setting the device on the table and Clark let's out a soft, exhausted breath. Before grabbing the hairdryer, switching it on and blowing the layer dry.

And he stares at Jon the whole while.

The air is thick with tension and Clark purses his lips, occasionally glancing towards the volcano. It's lumpy, conical and it's very clearly rushed, but Goddammit, it's a volcano and that's what matters. He can cover the flaws with black paint and soil.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

You're surprised to see a grown man in your classroom after school, a project in his large, muscular hands, glasses braced on the strong bridge of his nose as he sets it down on the nearest desk.

Eyebags, slumped shoulders and a pointed scowl on his face as he stares at Jon, who simply gives him a toothy and appreciative grin.

"I'm sorry for bringing his project in late. The soil and grass used had ants." Clark states, hands tucking themselves into the pockets of his jeans, fabric stretched taut over sinewy muscles, flannel shirt accentuating the curves of his biceps and his broad shoulders, and Clark's tongue runs over his bottom lip.

Watching as you inspect the volcano, the tip of your pen lifting various (and accurate) plants that litter the base of the volcano, before you nod your head.

It's just a model, but it could be functional if you were to add baking soda. Red liquidy jelly runs down the side of the volcano, mimicking lava and you give Jon a proud smile.

"Good job." And you tick his name off the register, glittery pink pen standing out against the starch white paper and you reach for a sheet of stickers, placing one on Jon's cheek.

A kitty saying 'mewow' and by Clark's surprise, you reach out, placing a sticker on his shirt of a tortoise saying 'you did so shell!'.

"I could tell by the email that you did everything anyway." You give Clark a sympathetic smile, smile lines on your pretty face, hair framing your features so lovely as you look up at him through your lashes.

And placing it on his other pec.

And Clark let's out an exhausted laugh. "Yeah. I did." He hums softly, before reaching out towards Jon, ruffling the boy's hair before snatching his sticker.

"You didn't do shit."

Taglist:

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[dnfity]

can we talk about the dnf + sapnap dynamics from this video more

like first of all its the difference in the voices dream uses that really gets me. with sapnap it's how u would expect best friends to talk but then with george it's that but with an extra layer of something. dream's voice is like honey to me when he talks to george. little teases and giggles just roll off his tongue so easily and he seems to have less care about whatever dumb joke he wants to say bc he knows that with george he can just let loose and be silly with him. thats one of the things i love most about dnf is that they have so much Fun together no matter what. and their bickering too like jesus christ it's always over the smallest most insignificant things but u know they both love it cus theyre smiling wide as hell as they do it. my little debatelords like they just love to rile each other up yet also rely on each other to bring themselves down and its so cute to see. they love yapping in circles about nothing but also engaging in deep conversation topics but also just bouncing words and noises off of each other. it's like they stimulate each other's brains in ways no one else can someone needs to sedate me i think

[luvvrz]

The Odyssey Fucks Hard [Poolverine, 18+]

AKA: how the movie woulda went if I was at the table

Additional tags: ermmmm very gay 🤭 pain kink most def, lacks foreplay just right into the nasty, also a slight bit of degradation but not much

OTHER WORKS

He's fucking grinning. Logan doesn't know why, there's blood in his teeth and a blade in his fucking abdomen, but he's grinning. Maybe he likes it when prey fights back? Or, better yet, maybe he likes it when someone can keep up.

Wade's still talking - when is he fucking not? You'd think in some bad ass fight scene like this one, the motherfucker would attempt to indulge. You know, less yapping and more punching. Then again, the man wouldn't be able to shut his goddamn mouth if it literally sewn shut. Sources? I won't elaborate.

Nonetheless, Logan's on top of him, and he's got a set of claws tucked neatly into his side. Wade arches up with a hiss, and they're pressed together, and *Christ*, the man's all muscle. Surely it's to be expected, but Logan doesn't enjoy using his brain often. It's not that he's stupid, he just... doesn't care enough to think. Neither does Wade, clearly, his next strained words a testament to that.

"No cup? I mean, you're prehistoric, so I know there's probably not a lot of swimmers left, but it's the principle, you know?"

Logan growls, fangs bared as his other hand swipes up to promptly wrap around the other's throat. He squeezes with a vegence, eyes narrowed and face twisted up in a bitter fury.

"Shut the fuck up. You haven't shut your mouth for one goddamn second since you showed up."

This prompts Wade to smirk, a sight hidden beneath the mask, but the way the eyes of it crinkle up is more than enough proof. Logan hates him. Logan doesn't think he could possibly hate anyone- or anything, more.

"Ooh, fiesty. Watch it, Wolvie, I'm into degradation. At least take me to dinner, first."

Logan snarls, grabbing a fistful of Wade's mask to yank his head to the side, slamming it into the nearest window. The man groans, a sound that Logan all-too happily chooses to relish in. They're still pressed together, chest to chest and hip to hip, and- holy fuck, is he genuinely twitching beneath me?

The anger on his face gives way to shock, if only for a moment, before that ever-present scowl is returning with a vengeance. Alas, he is a man, a man who is in constant denial of enjoying things simply because he doesn't believe he deserves it. Still, that doesn't stop his own dick from twitching weakly in interest, making Wade's head shoot up.

God dammit, he could practically hear the amusement in his voice.

"Is that a claw, or are you just happy to see me?"

He doesn't even have time to finish his sentence before Logan's claws are embedding themselves deeper into his side, as much of a promise as it is a warning. Wade's head falls back with a throaty groan. He is getting off to this, the kinky son of a bitch.

Still, no one addressed the elephant in the room, both figuratively and literally. Sure, it's been brought up, but the real question is, what is going to be done about it?

Wade's still talking a mile a minute, and Logan's sanity is slipping through his fingers.

"Calm down, baby girl, no need to blow a fuse. Sex is a perfectly normal thing that happens when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, there's nothing to be ashamed about-"

You'd think a man that was almost 200 wouldn't have the kind of speed Logan does, but then again, Logan is not your average man. He's ripping Wade's mask up with a quickness even light itself would envy, meeting his lips in something of a kiss. Sure, it's all teeth and tongue, and he's growling like a pissed off bitch in heat, but... it's a kiss, as far as Wade's concerned!

As far as Logan's thought process goes, though, he just wanted quiet in the peanut gallery.

For the first time in this history of Marvel Universe, Wade Wilson is quiet. The air itself is silent, waiting on a baited breath to see what happens next - only broken by Logan's growling.

Logan doesn't break the kiss, not even as he begins to undress the man beneath him. The Wolverine is a man of many things, but patience is not a virtue he possesses, nor particularly cares for. A single claw extends to cut Wade's suit off him, resulting in a whine of pure despair.

"Hey, I was fondled like a French girl for that goddamn suit! Careful with the merchandise."

Logan cuts off his yapping with a particularly rough nip to the lip, sending the welcome taste of copper spreading over his parched tongue. The claws are on his own suit now, and for a moment, he's tempted to look for the zipper just to spite the other - but then again, his dick's throbbing and he'd honestly rather skip the formalities.

Unceremoniously, the suit is cut away, and soon enough, the pair are pressed closer together than pussy lips in a g-string. Wade's scars extend far below the collar, Logan's come to realize, and he retracts his claws only to temporarily ghost his fingertips along the divets in his skin. The gentleness doesn't last for long, though - as soon as he finds the hem of Wade's boxers, those, too, are being torn away.

Wade fucking giggles, twirling a strand of non existent hair as his other hand comes to cover his dick - not that it mattered much. If Wade Wilson had anything to be proud of, it was his fucking cock. His hand didn't leave much to the imagination.

"Careful, shnookums, I'm shy."

Now, a better man would've maybe indulged in some foreplay, maybe even prep. But Wade's a big boy, he can take it. Plus, maybe the stretch will give that mouth something else to focus on besides being the most insufferable being on the planet.

And so, Logan rather unceremoniously spits into his palm, before stroking himself. One pump, two pump, three, before he's deemed himself ready. He knocks Wade's hand away, before thinking better of it, and uses his own free hand to grab both his wrists and pin them above his head. The resulting smirk is instantaneous, and Logan can fucking see the gears in his head turning, preparing for another snippy remark.

Logan decides that he simply won't give him the chance.

His hips are pushing forward, brutal and impatient, and the initial stretch has them both gasping like a fish out of water. His grip on Wade's wrists tighten, bushy eyebrows furrowing as his mouth parts in a silent groan. His eyes flutter closed as he tries to focus on anything other than how freakishly tight Wade's ass is.

And Wade, he isn't much better off. If Deadpool is anything, it's a goddamn pain slut, and the sudden burn has stars exploding behind scarred eyelids. It's a strained grunt, more akin to a whimper, and his cock jumps angrily against his belly.

For once, the Merc with a Mouth has nothing to say - and not because he didn't want to, but because he can't.

There's something triumphant in Logan's eyes at that, a selfish sort of victory. A cruel, condescending smirk as he leans closer, tilting his head minutely. The pace he's settled into, it's rough, punishing, and Wade's brain simply isn't working as quickly as his mouth. The man's attempting to babble, but all he can muster is a few broken whines, and a guttural 'Jesus fucking Christ.'

"If I knew that cock was all it took to get that fuckin' mouth o' yers' quiet, I would've stuffed this fuckin' hole hours ago."

The Odssey fucks hard, Wade reckons, but Wolverine fucks harder.

[retrowitchy]

a quick fic where maysilee is sick of haymitch's ass (she loves him really)

based on a conversation with a friend. maysilee donner, certified lesbian and hatergirl, can't handle one more second of haymitch yapping about lenore dove in the arena.

*✴︎+ in which maysilee donner is so over haymitch abernathy on ao3

My boots crunch through the soft leaves on the forest floor, but the sound is overpowered by Haymitch hacking through the brush in front of us. He doesn’t really need to, we can definitely get through without him clearing a path with his axe like this. But about an hour into our hike he got bored, so even though it’s kind of annoying, I’m allowing it, because it’s also a little endearing.

One of the severed stems flies up and hits me in the face and I flinch with a frown.

“Hey, careful with that thing,” I say to his back.

“Sorry,” he says. We keep moving. A while ago, we passed a tree dripping blood, and I’m determined to get that image out of my brain. I don’t like blood. Another good reason why my darts work for me. It’s a neat and tidy death to deliver.

I fiddle absentmindedly with the vial of blueberry poison around my neck. The perfume that it used to carry was actually special- Asterid gave it to me. It took a while to finish it off, but last year and this year I’ve been adding it to my collection of necklaces that go with my reaping outfit. I always thought that if I ended up in the arena, it’d be useful- and I was right.

The thought of Asterid March makes my stomach flip flop in a weird, sappy way, and I don’t like it. Even here, in this stupid death trap that I know I’ll never escape, I’m thinking about my chances with her. Which is ridiculous, for three main reasons.

She does not like me that way.

She does like Burdock Everdeen that way.

I am going to die in the Hunger Games.

Nobody knows about this crush, not even Merilee, because she’s as close to Asterid as I am, and I think the embarrassment would kill me. And it’s not like Asterid was my only shot at romance before my untimely death at 16. Larkin Getty and I once told each other we liked each other under the stairs at school, and Moll-Daisy Wendell and I spent a few months holding hands under desks, swapping hair ribbons, and stealing kisses a couple years back. Still. Asterid is the latest and last.

“Hey, that’s mountain mint. Lenore Dove loves those,” Haymitch stops us in view of a low patch of clustered white flowers. Oh, brother. Lenore Dove again. It takes everything I’ve got to keep from rolling my eyes.

“Sure, loverboy.”

He doesn’t even seem to notice my response, just kneeling down next to the patch and examining them.

“At home, she used to pick bunches of these and weave ‘em into her braid. Sorta like a crown,” he says, picking one blossom and rubbing the stem between his fingers.

“Pretty,” is all I say.

“Yeah, she is,” is what I get back in return. Jesus Christ, he’s barely even listening to me. That Covey girl has him wrapped around every inch of her finger.

Haymitch stands up, still twirling the little flower, and starts moving forward again, this time less focused on hacking up the path in front of us.

“One time, I found this big patch of mountain mint, and I picked the entire thing for her. It was sort of a joke, but also, I thought she’d appreciate the gesture. I brought it back to her house and I covered her whole loft in the stuff, and then when she came in from tending her geese, she was shocked.”

“I bet she was,” I say patiently.

“Yeah, she was,” he says, “shocked and mad.” He starts to laugh. “She said I had no right to go disturbing a patch of wildflowers like that. Can you believe that?”

Haymitch has a laugh that kind of sounds like a dog barking.

“I can believe it.”

“She forgave me, though. Figured that pretty quickly after she started kissing me.” I can hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t need to hear the details,” I say. I think this is the fourth time he’s brought up Lenore Dove in the last hour.

“Well, anyways. She likes it for sleeping. Lenore Dove says the best nap you can possibly get is cushioned by a bed of white flowers, with your birds a-roostin’ around you.”

“That blossom’s probably poisonous,” I point out, but he’s not listening to me, just continuing to yap.

“Guess I never really understood that until she made me take one one day, and now I get it. Sis, it was the best nap of my damn life, I’ve never felt better than I did after that nap.” He chuckles again. “’Course, that’s Lenore Dove for you. Somehow she’s always right about everything. One time-”

“Haymitch, I love you, but you have to shut up about your girl, okay?” I cut him off abruptly. He turns to look at me, eyes wide.

“What?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again.

“If we’re going to be allies, we’re going to have to find some conversation topics that aren’t your girlfriend. Because seriously, it’s getting to be way too much.”

He frowns, like I genuinely hurt his feelings. I think that’s a dumb thing for him to get his feelings hurt over, though.

“Well, sorry,” he grumbles, a little quiet. “Just sort of the main thing I think about.”

“Oh, yeah, you didn’t need to clarify that. I already figured that much out,” I snap back, fighting a smile or a laugh. “I just think I might actually lose my mind, go insane, and shoot you with one of these darts if I have to hear another word about Lenore Dove’s favorite food or how long she likes to keep her fingernails.”

“Oh, whatever,” he shoots back. “You just don’t know what it is to be in love like we are.”

Asterid zips through my brain for a split second, and I ignore her.

“Mr. Abernathy,” I laugh, because the whole thing really is kind of amusing, “you have no idea what I know about being in love. So you’re gonna want to keep your mouth shut, there.”

Haymitch doesn’t have a great comeback for this, so I consider it a successful win. A few minutes pass by of us walking in silence, and I can feel myself beginning to soften a little.

“Tell you what. If you can make it an hour without mentioning Lenore Dove once, I’ll give you an extra sardine when we stop for lunch.”

It’s meant as a joke, and he gets it and we burst out laughing.

“Nah, sis. Fifty-fifty. You keep your sardine, and I’ll keep saying whatever I want,” he says.

“My next dart is so close to the vial of poison.”

“She’s a real beaut, you know.”

“Dipping the dart in the vial.”

“I just hope she’s proud of me, at the end of the day.”

“Oh no, how did this dart get in my blow-gun?”

We both crack up at that.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, a little more seriously.

“Thanks,” I smile at him.

“What do you know about being in love?”

In response, I just grin and march past him, leading the way through the trees.

[8-rae-rae-8]

So

A Perfect Circle

I am desperately in need to hear your thoughts on Judith, because it's SO BEAR as the addressee of the lyrics

Also, Thomas as his attempts to keep his faith, wdyt

DUDE DUDE DUDE DUDE I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS. Gonna be a LONG post. Bear with me, pun intended

Okay I have Judith on both of their playlists for almost completely different reasons. I'll get to Thomas once I'm finished with my extensive yap session on Judith

Talking about Alex AND Bear because I have thoughts about Judith for both of them first

For Alex, I was thinking more something along the lines of the way he idolized Rip, and the way he thought of his mother.

See, I'm not immune to giving characters strained relationships with religion (growing up Catholic and Christian would do that to you). And though you see Alex doesn't have any bad blood with religion in the times Bear mentions his faith outside of him saying he essentially doesn't believe in it, I like to think he grew up in a passively religious household. With a mother who tried to tell him that prayer would fix things, despite it never doing anything. It always became some kind of excuse or a reason Alex wasn't allowed to do something because 'god wouldn't have wanted him to'/'what would god think about that?'. And, of course, Alex never believed in any of that. It only made him angry especially as a teenager when his mother would say over and over that they just didn't pray enough, or go to church enough, and that's why god never helped them.

But, ALSO, on the same page with Alex's mother...

These lyrics:

"You're such an inspiration for the ways that I will never, ever choose to be"

That specifically is what started me thinking about him and his mother, because it's mentioned that in that one interview (though we don't know to what extremes) she abused him. Growing up with that, framing everything he knew as a kid, taking away small things while having him tip-toe around in fear of a reaction or punishment.

But there's also the way abusers will treat themselves as all holy and above their victim. Kids need their parents, and if their needs aren't met and they're neglected, their minds fill it in with how it must be their own fault they aren't loved—while begging for a parent to see them. So...

"How you're savior has abandoned you"

"Praise the one who left you broken down and paralyzed, He did it all for you"

And then something a little similar for the way I think about it with Alex and Rip

The betrayal of seeing Rip get lost to addiction and then him killing that kid, when Alex saw him as something far more than just a leader. That all crumbling down the more he watches Rip get exceedingly more lost, more angry and hateful.

"oh so many ways for me to show you how your savior has abandoned you"

But there's that voice reminding him how much Rip sacrificed for him, for the team.

"He did it all for you"

Also, dare I say...

"He did it all for you" but it's Bear saving Alex's life over and over

Okay now to Bear because I have MANY feelings about it and it'll probably be far less coherent

I adore his writing throughout the show SO goddamn much. Questioning everything so much and being so sure he's let down a god he's starting to lose faith in. GOD it's so good.

But actually onto the song bit before I get off track too much

Obviously we're gonna start with the beginning

"oh so many ways for me to show you how your savior has abandoned you"

Sarah's death, failure to give Lena the kid she wanted, Rip being kidnapped, Buckley dying, being unable to generally protect his team, Alex's TBI, Lena's death. The list, I swear, it just keeps going. He has never had a day of peace in his life. He can pray as much as he wants, go to church, go to confession, but it never made a difference, did it? Death follows him, he kills everything he loves.

"fuck your god, your lord, your christ (he did this)"

The anger of never being helped and saved the way he prayed over and over. The hatred for the way he can do everything right, and it still always falls through. Someone gets hurt, he loses another piece of him.

"took all you had, and (left you this way). Still you pray, never stray, never (never taste of the fruit)"

No matter how much he gives, how many times his knees hit the kneelers in the pews of the church, how many times he dares to sit in the dark booth of the confessional, no sins he's ever repented for ever made anything better. And yet, he still goes back and tries over and over without ever getting the relief of his god giving him what he's been praying for. He remains faithful, even as it all comes crashing around him, he kneels in the rubble because if he prayed enough, he could still be saved—though maybe his sins are too heavy now.

"even though he's the one who did this to you, never thought to question why"

In a way, I think some of Alex's questioning and influence rubbed off on him in his vulnerable, confused state with how many times he told Bear to "let the universe do its thing". Making him truly think about the fact that his faith has gotten him nowhere but further inside his head.

"Not like you killed someone, it's not like you drove a spiteful spear into his side. Talk to Jesus Christ as if he knows the reasons why, he did it all for you."

Bear trying to reason why his prayers were never answered when others got theirs. He confessed, he repented, he went to church, he did everything right. No matter how much he prays, he never gets an answer.

Bear is so helpless I love him. I love hurting him. I love reading into him. ANYWAY

Now onto Thomas...

"humble and helpless, learning to pray, praying for visions to show me the way"

After losing so much, being unable to find his own way back to both himself and the church, Bear feels like he has to start all over again just to get back to the way he felt about his faith before all this. It used to feel so correct on him, back when he hadn't done anything wrong yet. He needs something to guide him back when he can't enter those doors by himself yet—he doesn't want to

"Allow me to be forgiven, show me the way to let go, show me the way to forgive you"

His anger and guilt always makes itself front and center when he tries to get on his knees and pray the way he was taught. He can't let go and forgive himself, but he can't forgive his god either. It's not something he can do by himself, after the horrible things he's done, all the blood on his hands never washes away and leaves him stained.

"I'm just praying for you to show me where I'm to begin"

Getting silence after begging and pleading for there to be any sign to show him his way back, trying over and over because that's all he's ever been able to fall back on. A god he can't see, a religion he's losing faith in. He can't begin again, and there's no one to guide him back anymore

He needs it, more than anything. Going to talk with his priest, trying to find an answer for the bad things that happened because of him. Using his questions to try to reach out and get a grasp on any remainder of the god he's been pulling away from for too long.

There's nowhere else to go. The hand he reaches out never meets anything, despite his prayers and cries, there's no one on the other side hearing him.

"Hoping to... (hoping to), help me to reconnect to you"

But he still tries, he goes back and sits at the very back in the pews, with his head down and his rosary in his hands. Following along with mass, muttering everything back as prompted. He needs to find his way back, even though he can't grab anything when he reaches out anymore, it feels like his pleas go out to an empty room and only he can hear them echo back to him.

If he keeps trying, if he begs enough, someone would hear his prayers and he'd be back where he was before—content in his faith

Honestly I didn't read like most of this back so there's probably errors in there but WOO I am feeling SILLY

[play-rough]

Headcanon so specific and yet so likely to be actively contradicted it’s more of a theory waiting to be confirmed or rebuked-

So I’ve yapped in the past about Chuuya and Kunikida’s different caregiving styles, I thought today while I was walking through a field about how they’d transport Dazai around when he’s too small to walk. Chuuya would definitely be happy to just carry him everywhere because that’s where the baby prefers to be, and unless they’re out for hours I don’t see him thinking it’s unreasonable to just carry him everywhere-

But that’s not very practical, so Kunikida wouldn’t do that. His main choice of transportation is a stroller- a forward facing or reversible one (so Dazai can see him at all times 😢) and while Mackerel complains, he doesn’t kick too much of a fuss about it because Kida’s preferred mode of Dazai-transport is a baby sling (supports and holds the thighs up so the feet don’t dangle too far down-) that he bought because he thought it would be an easy solution to the impracticality of carrying Mackerel everywhere- but Dazai hates it because, and this is a hc I hold quite dear to my heart, now that he has older brothers he looks up to- Dazai is very particular about certain things that make him seem ‘Too Little’. From his line of logic, being carried everywhere is fine, but a baby sling is far too babyish. Having a crib is just about acceptable, and sleeping in Kunikida’s room is the goal (he’s so mean for rarely making any exceptions) but having his crib in the same room as his caregiver is outrageous! Only REALLY little babies have their crib in the same room as their caregiver!

And yeah, if you get Dazai while he’s sleepy enough and tiny enough, he’ll actually love the sling, but he’d never let it happen otherwise, so pram he goes.

Christ this is a long one. All that just to say grumpy Dazai in his pushchair.

-🍓

I hope it’s ok if I put these two-in-one because even though Chuuya bought the stroller, he does just prefer to carry babyzai. Stroller was kind of thrown in relatively last minute because I think it would be useful in future fics for other ideas (i have a vision of babyzai at the aquarium getting pushed around) and even though Chuuya technically bought the stroller, I really like and agree with ur message andnskdjdjks I’m so here for Dazai trying to be older now that there’s older kids to play with, he does already associate older littles with being less needy. It’s not that Dazai dislikes these things, but he knows it makes him take up more time and he knows it’s more intense care than the other two receive, makes the poor baby really self conscious

I think because Chuuya knows Dazai on that deep level he knows that baby is just always going to be most comfortable being held, easiest way to keep him happy. They really only do the stroller if they’re going on an all day outing like the aquarium or for a walk in the park maybe. For smaller events, Chuuya will probably just use it as a car seat but leave the stroller folded in the car. Dazai causes the least amount of fuss about just being carried, so that’s usually Chuuya’s go-to.

Kunikida would love the stroller and baby sling (and while Dazai would be fond of neither, I agree he would probably prefer stroller to sling). Kunikida likes keeping the baby close, and having his hands free for whatever he needs. Kuni is usually also watching more than one little, so it’s great for multitasking. While he probably puts up a fuss going in to the sling, Dazai usually settles down in it after a bit. In the baby’s eyes, the stroller probably does seem a bit more independent, and Dazai can snuggle down in his blankie if he needs a break or if the outside world is too stimulating (leading to less trips home early due to overwhelmed babies)

[bonnieura]

every time i hear a freaky grandma nitpick JFK's weight after 1960 an angel loses its wings and god kills a kitten. I cant ever understand why they [american public] are so fixated with his appearance and especially his weight. It just screams fatphobia. literally no one is dying if he gained a few pounds . its not ww3. The way its said is always just so condescending and backhanded? putting his early life his illnesses his medications and his plenty near-death experiences into consideration i am damn glad he managed to be even if only a little, HEALTHY . something he literally never got the chance to say about himself

you can say that it's a given considering his whole campaign strategy was built around his *youth* and looks in general but that does not take away from the RUTHLESSNESS i see from people when his weight is the subject of matter. and thats from today in *2024* like jesus christ imagine how it was in the 60s 😭

you can say that the "reason he put on weight" (as if it even needs a reason, he wasnt overweight or anything at all) was to look less boyish and more like formidable or something for the elections. he already had to deal with criticism on being too young for the presidency. And all of that isnt something to be ashamed or remorseful of at all either?? I genuinely dont get why so many to this day just outright degrade him for it. as if a middle aged man not being borderline underweight is satan's incarnate.

speaking of underweight, he was the aforementioned for YEARS during his service in the senate and the house. having just returned from ww2 with near fatal injuries he was clearly ill and malnourished. And yet i still see people romanticize it as if its something commendable. You can commend him pulling through and getting his health together even if just barely, not whatever people glorify of his illness

If you read a little back you can see i mentioned his early life. well yeah thats cause his parents single handedly almost gave him and his siblings [tw] || eating disorders || [unfortunately i wouldnt be surprised if he had one] from disturbingly young ages . Im certain that it did a number on him and stuck to some degree. So I am damn glad he was able to break out of it [or at least look like he did , i cant tell you whether he did manage to break out or not considering he was hypervigilant on his appearance till the day he hit the grave atp

plus im pretty sure some of his medicine consisted of cortisone [known for puffing up the face and leading the patient to gain weight]. I hate how hyperfixated people are with his weight and body. yeah no damn wonder he was so worried 24/7 and love or hate the man literally no one should have to go through that. theres so much more i wanna say rn but im tired of yapping

[venomouschocolate]

Please info dump to me about Swap!Kris.

i never saw this and also i died 💀

anyway! canonically owns a hot pink bend and snap sweatshirt and has been woken up at 3am by daryan crescend on multiple occasions. has worn the same outfit for seven years, as in has multiple of the same jumper/jeans/shirt and rotates between them. canonically has weed socks.

dredging up ye olde google dokumente for this jesus christ. on a more serious/lore note:

it is important to remember that i have personal beef with miles edgeworth for being an ugly fridge shaped man but mainly because i always hate the most popular characters (see sans undertale, kokichi ouma) and i can't even help it. it is also important to remember that this is not pianoforte and kristoph is still a massive bitch. basically bro was getting to big for his britches and wrightworth beat him to it. he totally would have done all his canon actions he just got got. he may in fact be worse than canon bc he would totally kill phoenix and miles personally just because he doesn't have a reputation to ruin!

anyway so kristoph gets disbarred and ends up as a violin/poker playing girlfailure. he's slightly different in that his and klavier's relationship is actually okay, as in not as manipulative (you can take the man out of the murder but not the murder out of the man) and there's no power imbalance because they’re both equally unemployed. arguably klavier is less unemployed than kristoph. klavier's band was just starting to get somewhere when kristoph got disbarred and then klavier broke under all the stress and the band fell apart. so kristoph and klavier replace phoenix and trucy, respectively.

useful context: apollo works for phoenix's successful law business, wright & co! and is unfortunately still a bit of a kris fangirl! he coincidentally engages in a yap session with klavier gavin one nice evening. and then klavier gets a call from kristoph who's like "hi i just got arrested for murder" and klavier's like "well i just made friends with a defence attorney" and apollo's like "what". fast forward and they're in the detention centre and chaos ensues in the form of swap! turnabout thingymajig my ace attorney hyperfix is long gone and i remember 0 of the case names. turnabout kristophenactshisgrandrevenge part 1.

fyi klavier is apollo’s weirdgirl who happens to be friends with the main detective, daryan crescend. if i could still write you would get evil ema skye which yk. valid crashout tbh. also because i like franziska she's randomly the klavier in this situation and also has randomly picked up trucy as HER weirdgirl. they are slightly more normal and slightly stranger respectively.

the point is that you think phoenix is pulling the canonkris "trust guys i'm so nice omg a red flag?? must have been the wind" type shit for most of the plot. until kristoph (probably) turns around and goes "HEY. you know who had legal power in ye olde days of 2019. because it's not underpaid defence attorney number three NOOO have you met his evil boyfriend" in which miles edgeworth regains some of the cunt that his fridge shouldered ass definitely needed. and no i cannot hate on him for being ugly i like kristoph and his acid yellow hair but i will anyway.

in a slightly shorter fashion kristoph was still some classist pretentious corrupt little bitch before he accidentally became the proletariat. very much the man (?) we all know and hate in canon. so he posed a threat to the Integrity Of The Law but also to both phoenix and miles so they were like "hmmm. unfortunately he's too much of a loser for a criminal record. let's fix that" and then weaponised his homosexual tendencies by being really nice to him or something LOOK I HAVEN'T FIGURED IT OUT AND I NEVER WILL. also like beanix he knows what's up and he's much much meaner about it.

kristoph has entered his i don't give a fuck about the economy or your feelings i just want revenge a la starkid's (cinder)ella (if you don't know she wants to kill everyone who wronged her). also he has the attitude that one (1) person can be mean to klavier and that is him. clearing his name isn't enough, he very much wants to fuck everyone over to the greatest possible extent. he is not too bothered about becoming a lawyer again. also he has stopped pretending to have any semblance of fashion sense and i love that for him.

he is also accident-prone as anything. he fights the police in turnabout trump and almost breaks his nose. he intermittently gets ragdolled by miles edgeworth which is arguably the most unfortunate life event he faces. he gets hit by a car in turnabout corner. he gets shot at some point during serenade. he tries to stab miles and gives himself a glass cut in the process. he has a whole laughing fit in succession and reveals himself to still be a manipulative little bitch. some kind of monologue on greater good and wrong things for the right reasons required.

apollo punches him.

actually i think he and apollo have serious beef due to one of them being a cryptic asshole and the other one being some guy who's just trying to live his life.

when asked about perjury, kristoph basically goes "lmfao. why do you think i was disbarred. idiot"

phoenix like "how much do you know" and kristoph like "oh i know that you like men if that's what you're asking. i'm not interested though"

kristoph has a lowkey perceive type beat going on with crime scenes rather than people; i call it paranoia. he notices evidence and details that others don't. eventually he learns to transfer this to people and becomes a menace.

yeah.

[blackberry-command-cap]

intro (as of October 2024) :||

⚠️ 4/6/25 update: this is. uh. quite old at this point, and kinda outdated. I'm on BG3 now. I still have burnout, I'm still Christian, still like getting asks and interacting, blah blah I'll update this properly at some point 👍🏼

Pertinent information about me:

Call me Blackberry <3

She/her and a LEGAL ADULT as of this month 🧀🧀

Improving from what is probably burnout and also mild depression

I doodle a lot. Sometimes I draw comics. I don't do fancy art or writing bc it takes too much patience. I take a lot of screenshots of my SWTOR babies :D besides that I'm just around

That one screechy death ginger who got 4 minutes of screen time in The Force Awakens? I deeply relate to him (tag)

I have a few OCs which are more memes than actual characters but oh well (character page)

I'm Christian and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Posts related to that are tagged #spiritual stuff or #church stuff

I like to talk about my interests but don't want to bore ppl so if you want to hear more about something interactions and asks are always welcome! (plz talk to me)

Less pertinent information about me:

I like to play D&D and Mario Kart

I read a ridiculous amount when I was younger and have a complicated relationship with a number of YA series, including Divergent and (sigh) Twilight which I am happy to yap about if prompted

Mumbo Jumbo is my spirit animal (though I haven't watched him in years

My brain does math really well but it sucks at writing (also social stuff. not really a good deal tbh I want my money back)

Tagging is pretty disorganized but I try :/

Me talking: #bb thoughts, #bb thinkings, #bb complains etc.

#tobbhibsw - non-star wars tag, stands for "turns out blackberry has interests besides star wars"

#i need a hux tag - the man himself 🤭🤭 I can't asd;fkjasldfj\

#oc: worst sith ever (+anxiety) - my current favorite SWTOR blorbo <3

other Character tags are on my character page

Self explanatory: #my doodles, #real life stuff, #unprompted sw thoughts, #unprompted swtor thoughts, #fun stuff

#church stuff - posts related to my church's (Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints) culture or doctrine, or generally organized religion

#spiritual stuff - posts not specifically about organized religion but still religious in nature, referencing God etc.

Reblog tags

#cool art 👍🏼 - art that strikes me or has a particularly good vibe (because it's pretty)

#analysis and lore - any post where someone has typed out their thoughts, headcanons, explanations, whatever in a big block of text

#crack/memes (don't worry abt it) - memes, text posts, s***posts, etc.

[judging-will-wood-confessions]

I don't think people talk about or listen to 'Becoming the Lastnames' enough. When I first properly listened to ICIMI, I was never told about this masterpiece nor have I even heard of it. 'Wow, it has amazing instrumentals,' I thought. 'This song is great already.'

Don't get me wrong, it's anything but a bad song. I just thought it'd be good in the overall vibes or the message, nothing more, nothing less. But looking at Against the Kitchen Floor, Euthanasia, many of the other songs in this album— we know where this is going.

At the line 'Imagine me, just like my parents... Yeah right!' I was already sobbing. I know the song had a different interpretation in mind when Will made it, but from my first listen and my very personalized interpretations, it hit way too deep. It felt like this song was narrating me as a camera looked through the other side of the mirror. I did not expect it to be so emotional, nor so personal. It felt like a sucker punch!

Fortunately, I'm a musical masochist.

TLDR: 'Becoming the Lastnames' is too underrated. I love it. It made me cry uncontrollably. You should listen to it.

Also sorry for the whole essay! Jesus Christ, I just wanted to yap about how good this song is!

Music Masochist is a phrase I never thought I'd hear

[lpsgirl109]

Start yapping about your lastest hyperfixaction Queen‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🔥🗣️🗣️🗣️🔊🔊🔊🔊🔊

and ANOTHER thing about sm:mm is the way Phin and Miles's conflict is treated as a black and white situation, where there can only be one in the right and one in the wrong. There is no middle ground, which is bullshit because there absolutely should be a middle ground.

The arguments in defense of Miles is that Phin is a hypocrite and a heartless asshole. She certainly must not care about Miles at all to be doing what she's doing and not even tell him Rick died. She has no right to be upset at him, she's just being whiny. To that I say: If my friend said he wanted to help my cause and then I find out he just wanted to get information out of me, I'd be pissed the fuck off. From her perspective, it probably seems like Miles wasnt even planning on helping her, he just wanted to spy on the Underground. Yes she's being hypocritical acting like he's so horrible for keeping secrets when she was doing the same thing. However, and I am looking at this from a narrative standpoint, her acting that way isn't a problem. The problem is this never gets called out, not by Miles or really the narrative itself. It's sort of a pattern that the story gives Phin character flaws that never get challenged. Also, and know that I understand why Miles did what he did, but I'm sure there were several other ways to stop Phin than going behind her back. Aaron literally phrases it as "using her" for christ's sake. Again, from Phin's perspective, it's understandable that she'd assume he lied about wanting to help her. She has every right to be upset about that, and her keeping secrets from him doesn't negate that. Also just throwing this out there that Phin has no obligation to tell Miles or anyone that Rick is dead. That's really only her business and I don't know why people act like Miles has a right to know and she's awful for not telling him. I'd get it if Rick and Miles were really close but we're never really shown that in the game. Have you considered, she didn't tell Miles about Rick's death or ask him to help her straight up because it could potentially put his life in danger?

The arguments in defense of Phin is that Miles made no effort to hear her out, he should've jumped on board the second he found out what Roxxon was up to, and he's an awful friend for not supporting Phin. To that I say: I don't think I need to explain while Miles absolutely should not have tried to join her. The Underground is a terrorist group, as much as I hate that they are a terrorist group, they are a terrorist group. They are attacking FEAST trucks and hacking aircrafts to shoot at the city and are only working for Phin because she's supplying them with weapons. In no world would Miles ever work with these people. This would be more understandable if the Underground's only goal was taking down Roxxon like I rewrite them as, but this is blatantly not the case in the game. It doesn't matter how correct Phin's motives are, her team attacks innocent people just for shits and giggles. This is not something Miles would ever in a million years be apart of. It's also worth noting that he absolutely wanted to help her stop Roxxon?? Just not in the way she was going about it, which. Valid. Her team is getting into shoot outs in the streets and their plan involves blowing up a fucking building. He wants to stop Roxxon, just in a way that'll involve a lot less people dying

The correct answer: they both fucked up. They both hid things from each other. Miles lied to her to get info from the Underground, Phin treated Miles kinda unfairly for it. Neither of them handled this correctly. Let's all hold hands now

[urethrafun1]

Intro because I need to make people aware of my interests NOW

Only DNI is people who draw trans boys with super hyperfeminine traits. I’ll block you if I find out you’re a weirdo so interact if you want and I’ll just have one less creep to worry about

My name is Scott and I am a boy a bbooooy and I kiss booooyyyyss (one boy) also my pronouns are HE/HIM ONLY

I like to draw and listen to music (shocker) + listening to & watching Chris Chan: A Comprehensive History

I LOVE RANFREN!!!! (Sorry to let you guys down..) I’ve made myself quite a few Ranfren themed things so just ask about them if you want me to show :3 (Actually, one dni. Sebastian and Randal shippers and Ivorycest shippers. Don’t think you’re safe because I like Ranfren too.)

I LOVE Christory (Liquid Chris, Alec Benson Leery/Asperchu, and Clyde Cash are my top 3 trolls [In that order]) and if you ask me about it I could yap for hours.

I LOVE SCOTT PILGRIM!!!! I’ve read all the books seen the movie and watched the show and I have figures (the minifigures too) and played the game Jesus Christ I’m a super fan

I like Cry of Fear. (stolen from my sweet boyfriend) I’ve played it 3 times but when I moved computers I lost all my data lol so now I’m on first run.

I like Postal. (Also stolen from him. He is a super fan and I love it sm hehe) I’ve played half of Postal, all of Postal 2 and Paradise Lost, about a quarter of Postal 4 so far lol.

I LOVE Splatoon+Splatbands. (Favorites are Disspair and Squid Squad. [I can’t fucking handle overfeminized Warabi with big hips and boobs sorry but…not. At all. Get off my page if you’re one of those bitches because I WILL be mean lol.]) I haven’t posted Ikkan and Warabi in a while but I’ll try to ASAP. Or I can just make a separate blog for Splatoon stuff if you guys want. I’ve played both Splat2 and Splat3’s story modes and online battles. (Including Octo expansion)

I LOVE 12RODS. (Favorite song is Red and my favorite album is Bliss) Funfact I was in top 0.005 last year.

I liVE Madoka Magica. I’ve only watched the series so far but I’m binging the movies. I have…..a self insert but that’s dumb.

I LOVE angels but I’m not gonna yap too much about that.

-You can commission me ig if you like my artstyle but I won’t charge you (examples of art below)

-Questions r always open

-Sorry for edgy posts in advance

[nathank77]

11/6/24

1:50 p.m

My mother is being a royal bitch again. Her aid came. The dog barked and whines the whole time like crazy pushing her cage all over the kitchen. She drives me fucking crazy. And then my mother is stressed dealing with her stoma and displaces all her anger at me the scape goat. Things would be a lot more peaceful if we didn't have a dog barking and whining nonstop don't you think?

I just thought Katie was unlucky. She said when her mother and father quit drinking, not a lot about them changed. I believed her but as my mother quit drinking, I thought she was completely different. And for Katie it must just have been her parents and who they are as people.

Well over a month of her being sober and her being home for at least 2 weeks and yea Katie is right. She didn't change much. She doesn't repeat herself as much. She isn't as happy as she once was when she was chemically altered... but she's the same.

She made a comment about no one taking out the trash. When she made the decision to keep Riley i dropped all responsibilities. And I mean all of them. All of them.

So I said to her, "you want to know what id do if Riley left, I'd take out the trash so long as you held the top open. And I'd do"

Then she started screaming, shut up, shut up, stop talking and she was slamming her hands on the table over and over again. I mean a fucking melt down and I was talking, not yelling....

She's basically the same. Just doesn't have much of an excuse for being a cunt this time.

I'm aggravated cause she just blames me for everything but yea your stoma must be awful. I can only imagine especially with a yapping dog panicking the entire time you have to deal with it, huh? How is that my fault.

I don't need to go to the e.r. I wish I went to the gym but I had to wait for a call and I didn't want to be running and have to stop.... they don't think it's serious... I might try the injectable chlorestoral medication but im scared. I might try the statin sometime soon again..

I'm going to go to the gym tomorrow. And escape this awful hell. I'm so sick of being Alive. I hate where I live. I should have recorded her. She talks a shit storm to skye and Liv about me but christ. She comes at me with aggression. I respond most of the time with a, a matter of fact calmly. And then she just starts screaming.

Like I just can't cope. I guess I'm going to go to the gym tomorrow... and Saturday imma have a red bull day cause i have to go to my dad's on Sunday and I got to take more xanax anyways bc I know i won't sleep if I don't.... technically if I go to the gym Thursday I still hit 3 days this week, Saturday, Monday and Thursday... next week I'll go Monday, Wednesday and Friday....

Idk when or if i should retry the statin bc this was before the gym and it hurt my wrist and my muscles were achy and when I touched my leg it was tender.... idk what to do but I'm sick of being here...

What i read about my injectable medication and side effects specifically thyroid is it can cause thyriod storm. It happened to one person. That worries me and it can cause gastroenteritis.... makes me worry about it causing chorns or something in the long run. Also it can cause diabetes... but I'm a little less worried about that one...

Something I've been thinking is my chlorestoral went up from March to September... right after starting Methimazole and white mulberries... I mean idk. Meds can cause all sorts of side effects. White mulberries are known to lower chlorestoral but in this case it had no effect. What if Methimazole can raise it. Or even Xanax. I mean it's been almost a year of xanax. I have no idea.

I'm worried about sleep tonight bc i took 1mg last night bc my anxiety was so bad. And I can't do it tonight. I need to reserve it for Saturday so I can make sure I see my dad for his birthday.

[respectlless]

𝓲. briefly she discards her typically steady hand, allowing for an "accidental" slip of the pin, hoping it'd prick his skin. she had no patience for this whining. truth be told she'd picked vox for this for multiple reasons; the model that had been killed had a similar height and build, albeit with slight curvature as she had been a woman. never in her life would she allow vox to walk in one of her shows, as funny as it may have been in theory; she'd have someone else model the dress, but said model had been insistent she wouldn't be in for another two hours and this dress has to be perfect before then. vox would just have to do for now.

❝val's too tall; his big arse would damage the seams, and i'd rather listen to your bitching than his. although ideally there'd be no bitching,❞

𝓲𝓲. and there he went, arguing his point of how 'important' it was that he be watching alastor. she scoffs at this statement, brow twitching as she once again straightens out the sleeve, giving it a few smoothing brushes with her hand and looking over her work astutely.

❝no, it has to be ready to go in two hours. i wouldn't have to be adjusting it if it wasn't for your boyfriend killing the middle it was fitted for originally. christ it's like when i talk it goes in one ear and out the other.❞

❝you'll survive two hours of not staring at alastor. what exactly do you think the mangey git is going to do in two hours hm? he doesn't need to be babysat. based on your yapping he's very probably doing nothing more than mucking about in that shit hole hotel. so stop fretting; you sound like my nan.❞

𝓲𝓲𝓲. she taps her chin, eyes narrowing as she looks over the dress once more, taking in every detail; she's fairly certain she's gotten the sleeves right but one had to be sure. she would settle for nothing less than perfection.

❝right, hold your arms out to the side.❞

Grumbling as she spoke, watching her as she grabbed another pin, worried about her getting too careless. "What? No!" He scoffed, "I had actual plans. Watching Alastor is something that I just happen to do when I'm not busy. You know what they say: keep your friends closer and your enemies closer." He said, "Though, if you don't take it easy with those pins I will be pulling you closer, my dear Velvette." He said, smiling down at the fashionista.

He looked down at the dress he was wearing, making a face before looking back up at her, hearing her obvious annoyance. Groaning as he let his body slump, "Seriously? You can't even TELL." You could.

"Just give me like a couple hours to finish up my work then I can come back down and help you finish up things here. You have time before this dress needs to actually be finished, right?" He never actually did pay attention to her work -- or Val's for that matter unless he was in need of calming the moth overlord down.

"Or you know, I could have someone come step in for me -- like literally anyone -- anyone with boobs specifically since ya know...it's a dress! Or better yet, how about we get the moth-head to come down and help since he's the one who ruined everything and set you behind!"

The longer he waited... the more antsy he got. He needed to take this dress off and go see what Alastor was up to.