#of what keeps me going. but when brain is less good? being afraid of life is exactly fucking it.

[fatcowboys]

having so many thoughts and feelings abt Evan kelmp post recent mismag ep if I spontaneously combust that's why

[lightningfilledsaber]

I'm so fucking sick of my brain

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[starkura]

oh my good looking boy. | obanai iguro

note: not proofread, may be ooc

wordcount: 732

Obanai was a strict and unforgiving person. It was hard to build relationships with him due to his high standards. However, there was something about you that made him forget about his rude behavior. You’re cheerful and patient nature made him less fearful of you. There wasn’t anything for him to be afraid of. You slowly gained his trust day by day, and soon, you two were inseparable. When you’re both separated, you both write letters to one another. No matter how separated you two are, you guys always keep in touch.

You always figured that Obanai and you were very close. He talked and behaved comfortably around you, it was different compared to how he conversed with others. Obanai trusted you with his life. But, you didn’t exactly know everything about him. Obanai never mentioned anything about the bandages that covered his mouth. You were always curious about it, but he seemed avoidant and vague the first time you asked about it. So, you didn’t ask about it after the first time.

In truth, Obanai had reasons as to why he didn’t want to tell you. For one, he didn’t want to retell his traumatic past to you. He rather not have you know that side of him. And two, him imagining the number of reactions you could have to the scars underneath his face terrified him. Would you be disgusted by him? Would you be horrified by his scars? He didn’t want to lose you, one of the only people in his life that could make him feel at ease.

It wasn’t until one early morning when his bandages unraveled off his face. He woke up in the morning from a bad nightmare that included you and him. Obanai was gasping for air, his bandages were blocking his airflow. He didn’t realize it, but he pulled them down to breathe properly. He slowed down his breathing in an attempt to calm himself down. Obanai quickly started to panic again when you open the door to his room. He didn’t know what to do, he was usually swift with his movements. But, in this moment, his brain just froze. When the door is fully open, you see the sight of Obanai’s scars that follow his mouth. You were shock to see the scars that were imbedded into his face. Instead of being disgusted or horrified, you were absolutely worried. You had a tray of food prepared for him, however you dropped the tray and rushed to his side. “Obanai?” You say in a worried tone. His face was in your hands, and all Obanai Iguro could do was cry. “I'm sorry you had to see this. I know, I look horrifying.” He said softly. You wipe the tears off his face. You look at him with a sorrowful look. “Obanai, you don’t look horrifying.” You said reassuringly. He shook his head as a response. “You can tell me how it is, you don’t have to sugarcoat it.” He said. You move Obanai’s hair so his face has your focus.

Your fingers brush over his scars, feeling the roughness of it. His face is still as beautiful as ever, even if he thinks his scars make him hideous. Your mind started to wander, how did this happen to him? You give Obanai a small smile, tears slowly start to form from your eyes. You bring Obanai closer and wrap your arms around him. “I’m so sorry, whatever you went through, I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.” Obanai’s eyes widen and wraps his arms around you. You look back at him while still having your arms around him. You look right into his turquoise and yellow eyes. “I hope you know that your scars don't make you any less beautiful.” You look at him with a heartbroken look. “I didn’t show you my scars because I was scared that you’d be disgusted by them.” He admits. “I could never be disgusted by you Obanai.” You could tell that Obanai still had some worry and doubt, you wanted to reassure him that you didn’t think any less of him. Your hands moved to his face once again and you leaned in closer to him. You kiss his scars and then his lips. Obanai just sinked into you. You could sense that he was returning back to his calm and collective self again.

[luminnara]

Ganondorf x Hylian!reader

Just a little blurb I had to get out of my brain. Requests for Ganondorf/other Zelda characters are open!

He couldn’t help but marvel at you.

For as much as he hated hylians, even he must admit that some of them possessed admirable qualities—tenacity, an indomitable ability to survive anything, and a fiery courage that sometimes bordered on foolishness. You were an excellent example of a Hylian in this sense.

Now, as he watched you sitting near the crystal clear waters of the oasis, he could recall how you had glared up at him when he had first met you. Your teeth had been bared, your hands balled into fists at your sides as you had no doubt prepared yourself to fight to the death. But any intentions he had had of killing you quickly dissipated when he saw that bright fire in your eyes, and he could remember laying his sword down at your feet and kneeling before you…though even while kneeling he was far larger than you, a mountain in comparison.

You had been confused. You had considered running, preserving your life and keeping your head attached to your shoulders. You had even thought about wrapping both hands around the sword’s grip and doing your best to haul the massive weapon up into the air to protect yourself with. But when you had seen the way the Gerudo king had lowered himself, you had begun to consider him in a new, less threatening light, and you had taken a step back while the tension in the air shifted to something different.

From that moment on, he wanted only to be near you. And now, after many months of careful, determined courtship, he finally felt that you were his.

When he shifted his weight and leaned towards you, he was pleased to find that you mirrored him. Your shoulder brushed against his chest as you relaxed with a hydromelon slice clutched in your hand, the juice running down your wrist in a way that made him wrinkle his nose. He had always hated the sticky feeling of food on his skin. As you tilted your head up and saw the look of disgust on his face, you simply laughed and offered him the hydromelon, licking the juice off yourself when he took it.

“Oh, mighty king of the Gerudo…” you teased. “So bothered by the smallest things.”

“You are quite small, and you don’t bother me in the least.” He quipped, taking a large bite.

You could feel warmth in your cheeks as you blushed. “That’s good, then. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your day, by any means.”

“On the contrary…” he tossed the melon rind towards the sand seals relaxing nearby and put both hands on your hips, hoisting you into his lap. “You are a most welcome and constant distraction.”

He was so big and so warm, his hands seeming to engulf you as he held you there. How you ended up with the king of the Gerudo remained a mystery to you, but being with Ganondorf felt as natural as breathing, and the thought of being away from his hot skin and deep voice for even a day was troubling to you now. It had been months since you had last seen your homeland of Hyrule, and while at times you missed the lush, green fields, this endless desert had become your home, as had the man who lorded over it.

“You’re thinking of it again,” he remarked almost bitterly.

“Hmm?” You zoned back in to find him studying your face, golden eyes watching you intently.

“Hyrule.”

You laid a palm flat against his chest and looked down at it. “It’s hard not to think of it, at times.”

He was silent for a long moment, and at first, you were afraid you had upset him. But when your eyes drifted back up to his, you saw that they were serious and bright, practically sparkling with what you knew was passion.

“One day, we will both go there.” He said.

“I would like that,” you smiled.

“One day…Hyrule will be yours.”

[pigeon-behavior]

What are some things to look for with accounts that post a lot about their pet pigeon? Like what can I look for to be sure the pigeon is being treated properly and not being abused/stressed for views? What are common questionable things you see accounts like those doing?

That is a REALLY good question, thanks for asking!

My take here probably won't be comprehensive, but I will at least try to give you a starting point to go off of.

Here are some red flags in pigeon social media content:

1. They have cross species content. A pigeon should not be interacting with any other species besides people on video. Nor in real life, honestly, but we're talking social media crimes. No other birds- not even ringnecks- and CERTAINLY no mammals. It's dangerous.

2. This can be a little tricky for the less experienced, but watching how someone interacts with their pigeon is key. Do they force interaction? Do they respect their bird? Is this light-hearted teasing that the bird doesn't mind, or are you looking at a freaked out animal? Or a freeze response? If you're not sure, ask around for opinions you trust on behavior. Sometimes it is the only way to make learning leaps.

3. Stupid decision making. You will probably know it when you see it. Bringing a pigeon outside with no harness. Talking about the freedom of birds and how they need to free fly outside. If it Seems like hawk bait, it probably is. (I don't mean that they do this on purpose, they don't. They are are in utter denial about deaths by hawk and their ability to prevent them by simply keeping their birds contained)

4. This one depends, but if you ever see content of a pigeon being held so that the general public can pet it without it being able to get away - usually a bad sign. I saw this connected to a very small rescue once and it was pretty appalling. These are touch adverse animals - you can't do that. And on that note-

5. Any form of advocating for 'struggle-cuddling', or holding the animal still until it stops fighting you, is a HUGE no. It is one of the fastest ways to learned helplessness, and also for some reason rampant advice in this fucking community. I'm bitter about it, obviously.

6. They shit on all breeding. It's not necessarily a sign of neglect but trust me, these are not people you want to be around.

Now, some GOOD things to look out for:

1. Excellent housing. You want to see a wider-than-tall space with a lot of solid perches not caked in 3 inches of gray-green cemented poop. Poop happens. They are birds. It gets dirty. But the cement is neglect. That took time.

2. They interact with their birds respectfully. Even if they might get a little silly with them, you won't see these birds getting squirrely and shying away. Consent does matter here.

3. They have primarily ethical breeds. The range of ethical is pretty wide here. But something like an extreme modena or extreme MOF (modern old frill, NOT the same as the classic old frill) might still show up in a regular loft, and that's okay. They need a home.

4. If they breed, they have some kind of plan. You might not even see it, but occasionally breeders will talk about what they want to do with their breeding project. And their plan shouldn't be fucking stupid. TRLs plan? Stupid. That isn't how breeding Works. So, someone with a brain in their head about this stuff.

5. Someone who is willing to euthanize an animal. Making a creature continue suffering through amputations or other surgeries that are too extreme for it... It isn't ethical. A pigeon can't survive long term with only one leg. We know this. Anyone who is trying to pretend differently is perpetuating suffering.

6. Someone who socializes any baby pigeons properly. That means no hand-raising, no people imprinting. Parent raising. Socialization techniques vary and most are valid.

7. Care more about the bird than the content they make. The bird shouldn't be a toy they force into situations for views.

Generally, just try to pay attention. Don't be afraid to ask someone you trust about what they think of an account. It can be hard to break out of the little echo chambers that start to form, but thinking critically about stuff like that will absolutely help you in the long term. Exposing yourself to better information and cutting off the bad stuff will advance you a lot farther.

A real quick body language lesson for you, on how to tell if a pigeon is comfortable.

A pigeon frozen in place, refusing to move, is not a happy pigeon. Their eyes may get wide and tight, their posture may be slightly tucked in and hunched. It can be easy to mistake them as a little sleepy if you don't know what to look for.

Sleepy don't look like that. Sleepy is loose posture, puffy feathers, squinty eyes, fluffy forehead, raised foot. Some or all of these.

Another sign of discomfort is more active defense. It might look like display dancing, but this bird is telling you to fuck off. They tend to dance and hop around more trying to avoid you, their necks will be stretched out really tall, their heads will dart around, they will interrupt themselves mid-coo to run away.

These are birds who are confident enough to tell you to go away, but still freaked out. I saw a video from a prominent rescue last week of such behavior where someone was "playing" with this poor guy who was totally boxed into his rescue crate with nowhere to go.

Pigeons need an exit route during intense interactions with us. You can't box them into a corner so they have nowhere to go.

A pigeon that WANTS to wrestle or what have you will not flinch away from you like this, or freeze like a rabbit. If you are wrestling and you pull your hand away, the pigeon should run up to your hand again if you offer it from a distance. If you are petting the pigeon, the pigeon should lean their head down, or groan, or nesty grunt, or puff their feathers up, or try to preen you!

This got a little long, but I genuinely hope that was helpful to you. And again, great question.

If you like my posts, please consider tipping me on ko-fi!

[cryptidcircuswrites]

FUCKED IN THE HEAD

Dead dove- do not eat || MINORS DNI

!! mentions of guns and gunshots, detailed descriptions of violence and gore, fake out character death, wound fucking, brain fucking, penis in brain sex, brain creampie, head bashing, homophobic language, homophobia slur use, internalized homophobia, mentions of abuse, specifically masky bullies toby about his past with his physically abusive father, age gap but everyone is a consenting adult, degradation and generally mean spirited dirty talk

Like this version? @sister-lucifer wrote one too!

A horrible wet chop rang out, followed by a whoop from Toby. “I g-got the la-las-st one, Mas-sky!”

Masky turned back, mouth open, a “shut up, Rogers” ready to roll out of his throat when he saw it.

“Toby, watch out!” BANG!

The boy fell to the dirt, dark red glistening in the moonlight.

A feral scream ripped through Masky’s throat as he tore the head clean off of the woman who just shot Ticci Toby Rogers. Masky would never admit it out loud, but he was afraid in this moment. Slenderman could keep them from dying; Hoodie had tried a few times, and Rogers had had his fair share of accidents, but a gunshot wound to the head?

There’s just no way.

Masky dropped to his knees beside the corpse of his partner, hands shaking as he hesitated about what to do. What can you do in these situations?

“Rogers!” he hisses, shaking the smaller man. “Tobias, please!”

And then life, beautiful sound! Toby giggles, arms pushing into the dirt beneath him.

“I g-got you ther-there, didn’t I?”

"God damn you, boy!" Masky hissed, more venom than a viper spewing from his lips. He kicked the boy, to little satisfaction. Toby only laughed.

He couldn't feel it anyway.

"You were s-soooo upse-t, huh Tim? Thought I w-was dead, huh Tim?"

The masked proxy growls, a grin creept across Toby’s marred face as he pushed himself up from the ground.

“You know, T-Tim, now I h-ave th-three holes just like a r-real girl!” he taunts. “Bet you w-wanna fuck me n-now, huh?”

Toby continued his taunts and jeers. “You’ll f-feel less bad now-now, huh? Cuz I’m l-like a r-eal girl, and y-you’re not such a f-faggot when you fuck my ass-ss. I b-et my head feel-feels great. You should try-try it.”

The older man stops dead in his tracks. It was an interesting idea, sure-- but there was no telling how much damage it would do. A single gunshot to the head was apparently survivable, but could Toby's already muddled brain take his cock?

Masky jumps ever so slightly as the boy slides up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. "Come on, Tim. Think about how go-good it would be," he purrs.

He didn’t want to. He shouldn’t think about it, about thrusting in and out of his partner, fucking him hard, blood lubricating his hard cock and adding to the sensation— but god damnit if Timothy “Masky” Wright wasn’t a faggot freak who loved fucking the boy almost as much as he loved ruining his thin unfeeling figure. Being immortal and having CIPA meant the boy could take a beating. He often did. Masky abused that, so why would this be any different?

It was just another hole.

He turns, pushing Toby to his knees.

Just another hole.

Toby giggles in anticipation.

Just a quick fuck. Doesn't mean anything.

Masky fumbles with his belt buckle.

Never does. He likes girls.

He reaches into his pants, rubbing himself a few times to wake his dick up.

He likes girls. Not whatever sick shit this is.

“Fuck,” Masky groaned as he pulled Toby’s head back onto his dick. Toby squirmed and whimpered below, nerves firing all over his body.

Masky’s hands grip Toby’s face, fucking into his skull slowly, dragging out the sensation. “Shit, kid, this is even better than your ass,” Masky chokes out in a rare moment of praise.

Toby moaned in response, a sound so sweet and raw Masky could swear he’d died and went to heaven.

What the hell is he thinking? This isn't good. This is just stress relief. Shut your mouth, Tim.

Every nerve in Toby’s body is lighting up in ecstasy as Masky pounds into his brain. Every cry bursts from deep within his chest, pure pleasure ebbing through the parts of his brain still intact. Masky is not gentle despite the area being so delicate. He thrusts hard into the tissue, reaching the deepest parts of Toby’s skull.

He hates Toby. He hates his stupid voice, the way he never takes anything seriously. He hates his twitching, his stutters, how he moans and whimpers under him every time this happened, and most of all, Masky hates how he loves it.

So of course, he fucks harder. He hates that Toby can't feel pain-- he digs his nails into the soft flesh of Toby's face, jaw, cheeks, scalp, throat. No pain. Only ecstasy.

Toby's voice has always been high-pitched and raspy. Whiny, like some shitty greasy Midwest emo singer. It always got higher when Masky fucked him, and if you closed your eyes, you could trick yourself into thinking you were fucking a real, warm-blooded woman.

Masky didn’t close his eyes. Usually, he would. Usually, he’d try and pretend.

This time, he watched as Toby jerked and stuttered and twitched.

And this time, as he watches, as he recognizes the man below him, bleeding, pawing desperately at his crotch, he feels something snap.

Toby whimpers as something is hit. Bone hits bone as his skull knocks against Masky’s hips. Everything is on fire. His eyes aren’t capable of focus, his thoughts are scattered, his tongue won’t form words. All he can think is that he needs to touch himself right this very second.

He paws at his crotch as Masky fucks into him like an animal. He fumbles with his belt, with the buttons, desperate for release.

He doesn’t manage it. All of that requires motor skills that Masky is quite literally fucking out of him right now. He settles for grabbing at himself through his jeans.

“God, Rogers. You’re a fucking sissy-boy, huh? You moan like one,” Masky grunts.

Toby presses harder against his hand.

“You’re a fucking fag, getting fucked like this. Slut.” Toby cums in his pants as Masky tugs sharply on his scalp.

“Nasty little fucker,” Masky growls. Toby twitches harder, moaning as viscera is pushed out around Masky’s dick. "You better be grateful for how I fuck you like this, nobody else would want a nasty little fag-freak like you."

Masky pulled Toby off his dick, slamming his head into the nearest tree.

There’s a crunch as Toby’s nose breaks. Blood and goo spurts out of the hole in his head with the impact. He moans sickeningly.

“You just love being beat on like this, huh?”

What little is left of Toby’s vision is filled with stars. His ears are ringing, his stomach twists and clenches.

He can’t feel pain, so the damage only translates to ecstasy through his dick-scrambled brain. He moans, drooling, tongue limp and jaw slack. The bark of the tree leaves marks in his skin as Masky positions himself behind him.

“Bet you picked up some real weird kinks from your daddy huh? Some wires crossed somewhere, same way they fucked you in the head?” Masky held himself in one hand and pinned Toby to the tree with the other.

“How ‘bout after this is over you tell me who fucked you up better?”

Before Toby can process what’s being said, Masky pushes all the way in. He groans as he fucks into Toby’s skull like an unneutered dog, growling and panting and groaning. Thank god there’s no one around to see this save the dead eyes of the already dead victims, or else there would be no way for Masky to deny that he definitely is into men.

As Masky grows closer, Toby’s muffled whimpers are drowned out by him losing all sense of composure and chasing the pleasure like some goddamn hedonist.

Masky lets out a sharp cry as he finally hits his limit, cum mixing with blood and brain matter and spinal fluid into a gooey mess of a mixture. He thrusts a few more times then pulls Toby off with a sick pop. A squelch as a chunk of brain falls onto the ground, but then no other sound except their breathing.

Toby gurgles slightly, falling to the side. Tim’s juices leak out the back of his head and his eyes, mixing with the tears of sheer pleasure.

“…I should probably get you to Jack.”

[nekoning]

[CW: mentions of grooming and SA]

i'm starting to watch baby reindeer and it's nothing like what i expected it to be and I'm a bit in shock because so far I've never related so much to a portrayal of grooming/SA

honestly none of the shows or movies I've watched before have gotten it just right like this show does, i think it's because most of those I've watched are situations where the victim doesn't develop a bond(? with their abuser and either they are abused by a stranger or a partner becomes suddenly abusive, but not many explore the complexities of grooming and how much it makes the abuse worse, a lot of them also make the abuse the plot of the story and don't focus on what happens after someone survives abuse or the before about what factors can make someone more vulnerable to being victims of grooming, a lot of stories don't focus on these parts because they are messy but they need to be talked about more

there were so many things i unfortunately related to, how being abused by someone you want approval of hurts so much, how you can both be afraid of and also look for comfort in the same person that abuses you, the feeling of wanting to somehow protect this person that has hurt you and blaming yourself. you try to empathize with someone who never had your feelings in mind, you try to find ways to "negotiate" during the abuse and you think it gives you some sense of control, that it means you can deal with this situation. you downplay what happened to you because it's easier to move on than face it.

the other part that is rarely explored in media and that I've only seen it twice before is the sexual confusion and the incessant wondering if you were fucked up from the start or if that person ruined you forever, this topic makes the average person very uncomfortable but it's so important that it's talked about because victims carry so much shame because of it.

brains have strange ways of coping with trauma and a lot of times for victims it means that they feel the need to recreate the abuse they experienced in a setting where they have control of the situation, it also means that a lot of us develop hypersexuality and will put ourselves in risky situations, sometimes without realizing that it's tied to the trauma.

unfortunately society's reaction to these things is...bad, very bad. people that don't understand how trauma works use it to argument that victims wanted their abuse to happen, people also shame those who use kink to cope and heal AND when people see victims actively showing these signs, instead of helping, a lot of people judge without questioning if something is going on below the surface (at least this was my case, when i was very obviously putting myself in risky situations i was seen as someone that had something inherently wrong with him instead of someone that needed help and people did absolutely nothing to put me away from risk!)

the fact that it's the story of a male victim of SA is also relevant bc it's generally seen as less serious, I've been laughed at before when talking about my abuse and people tend to treat it as something you should want to happen to you etc.

anyways i hope more stories of SA are more like this, i hope all these topics are explored no matter how uncomfortable they might be, i hope more stories cover grooming in specific

it's been important to me at least, trauma from grooming can be so isolating because you really only feel understood by people who have gone through the same and it's so messy and confusing and it impacts your life for years, decades down the line..the part of loving hating myself more than i loved her hit me extremely hard because that's what trauma does, it takes away anything good that could happen to you

if you made it to here and are considering watching keep in mind trigger warnings because it was a difficult but necessary watch for me

[immoralimmortals]

Thank you for answering my burning character analysis question! I have tons more :D can you tell me about your thought process when you were writing each of the Akatsuki and how you put them together and how their personalities reflect in canon? Hugs

Oh...this is such a big question. I'll do my best! Answers under the cut <3

Honestly a big thing for me is to try to incorporate their actual way of speaking in my head? I try to notice the way they talk, and I think that's a big step into making them more convincing. I reblogged something before that's like...the best advice for writing, ever. Ask less "if" they'd do it and more "how" they'd do it. How, if you want something to happen, would this action be carried out by this character? I think this opens a lot of avenues for the imagination and helps make the story more fun. If you incorporate their manner of speaking, that's a big step into making the character believable (points in favor of you executing the "how")

For specific characters...here's some ideas I got in mind.

Itachi is a walking dead man. He knows he's dying. The thing that drives him is the execution of how he will die. So he keeps moving forward, at least so that how he passes on is the way it's meant to be. I think that makes it hard to enjoy life. I think he still treasures it-- i think he loves the little things like a sip of hot tea, a breeze in the air, the way someone smiles...but he's not exactly a thrill seeker. He doesn't go out of his way to enjoy things, especially if they're more outgoing in nature, unless it's to benefit someone he cares about. When it comes to said someones...he feels a great sense of responsibility. He's very subdued and doesn't intervene often, especially anything harsher than a suggestion, but when he DOES, it's quite controlling. Hence the whole assumption that using his genjutsu to solve problems being the right thing to do without their consent.

He's reflective, he's passive, he's tired...but he has very strong ideals that will cause him to act.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Kisame is a lot like Itachi in the sense that he's very understanding of receiving a poor fate based on his actions. However, it's like Itachi has a 100% assurance about life while Kisame still wavers. He has strong ideals, very much so, and he acts very surely...but he has trouble thinking of himself positively outside of how well he fights. Truth is very important to him, and I think he's always second guessing others' intents. Not always in the direction of "theyre treacherous liars", but also "they mean something besides what they say". Double speak, holding back feelings, that kind of thing. I think despite himself he has a strong sense of chivalry-- which I use less here in regards to gender itself and more as a sense of knightship, of gratitude and servitude to those he believes deserves it. He has rough hands and a monster sword; might as well put them to good use and stand between them and the thing that intends to harm.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

First and foremost about Deidara: he behaves as if someone in his life gave him the advice of "it is essential for your brain and health for you to make sure you are doing and learning new things" and he defined his whole existence around it. He WANTS to know more. He wants to learn, experience, he wants to expand his horizons. He isn't afraid of new information, at least not in itself. What's an artist if not also a critic, absorbing all the world has to give in order to reflect it in their work?

I also think of him-- since he's only 19 in the anime-- as someone who must have been a child prodigy, since he's so powerful and (presumably) feared. Here's a quote from chapter 22:

Being lauded as a genius from a young age is both a blessing and a curse for the clay ninja: a blessing because a lack of confidence is worse than slitting your own throat in the shinobi world. A curse…— ...Because Deidara so often forgets he’s hardly had time on this earth at all, at least not compared to his cohorts. You have to be quick on your feet to win the game. And so...he adapts(...)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sasori is, predictably, the opposite of Deidara in a lot of ways. He's very self assured in the sense that HE is right and YOU are wrong. He's not very assured at all in regards to new information and other viewpoints. I've described him before-- and I mean this in the most loving way I can-- shallow and painfully self-conscious. He isn't good with criticism, isn't good with seriously considering other's conflicting viewpoints, and it takes him a long time or harsh outcomes to make him change his tune about something. I think he's so impatient despite loving the concept of immortality and eternity because he has inflexible criteria for what he's comfortable spending said immortality with. Time is precious. Don't waste his fucking time!

He's a lot more sensitive than he'll ever admit. That's why he's drawn to aesthetics; that's why he's so regretful of having a human heart. That's why he's so controlling over what exists around him.

"...I know how hard it is to try to talk to people,” the singer confesses. “That...it’s easier to deal with what you like and know and can predict, make that last instead of going through the trouble wasting through things you don’t just in hopes of it being better. I want to help!” Her breath hitches at this sudden reveal, but she takes a deep lungful to quickly correct. “I mean...I want it to be... easy for you.” (...) “I found myself wondering, you know? You know good things are eternal. So why is it so easy for you to feel your time is being spent badly? At first it seemed weird to me...but now it makes sense. You want your time well spent, to be full of things you enjoy or can at least tolerate. I get that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Kakuzu is...a heartbroken man at the core that's built up layers around him to prevent that from ever happening again. I think he's very pragmatic. He looks at the past, sees his mistakes, and tries to move forward. He's halfway between thinking his past self-- before failing his suicide mission-- is an idiot and halfway to wanting to lock that piece of him in a box and protect it forever. It certainly wasn't *right*! ...But it did happen. So what now?

I think his perspective of money is the most factual, realistic conclusion he could come towards about what's reliable and ultimately matters. I don't think of him as a Scrooge type who's greedy for the sake of being greedy. I think he's very mindful of where money goes on a personal scale, the scale of the Akatsuki, and even up to international politics. He can't singlehandedly fix the way the world works, so he instead weaves through it, finds space and finances to make it work.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hidan is...absolutely fascinating! He decided the logical conclusion of life is to experiment upon himself (see: torture) until he has received immortality. But that's not the reward in itself, no, he FERVENTLY believes in his god and he's right. He believes that slaughter is important and I think the sociological aspect of that is just so interesting. Because you're supposed to slaughter your neighbor. Is this meant as an extension of "don't trust anyone besides yourself"? Is the extinction of the human race the *intended* result? WHY does Jashin want people to die? What's that all for! Huh!

Anyway it really must be a very high tension, radicalizing childhood/life he's had to get him where he is. I think something very important to him is his autonomy. He wants what HE wants and why do YOU get to tell him otherwise? I think this explains why he complains about praying before battle, doing rituals to be forgiven for leaving someone half dead, etc despite being loyal to his faith.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Writing for Konan and Pain/Nagato is going to be really interesting, because a lot of it is going to be me figuring out how I feel about them on a more personal level, interacting emotionally. What I do feel strongly about is that they are both very virtuous, have very strong values. I think you have to in order to do what they're doing.

I think being Konan in particular must be very difficult because I think she is *consciously* very selfless. She isn't a pushover, she isn't uncaring, she doesn't act merely because she has nothing else to do besides what you suggest. She gives herself fully to her role as Pain's angel. How much of yourself do you give away for that? Her own opinions, ideas, wants...she willingly gives it up like she's a saint. Her life's purpose is to carry out the will of whom she perceives as a literal god on earth.

...But that god was once her friend. The body he inhabits is the corpse of the man she fell in love with. I think you HAVE to be broken up over all this, even if you try to put it aside for the greater good.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I think of Nagato very similarly, in that he's not himself anymore but what he *needs* to be. He's a god. He has to play the role of god. Do things he doesn't want to do, take on responsibilities that perhaps shouldn't be put just on one man. Your autonomy just...whoosh! It's gone. You're an idea now, not a person. You have a goal, that's why you exist. Is it inevitable? Is this the only way he could have made sense of the kind of life he lived? Can someone give this guy a warm blanket and a hug? Holy shit, that's sad.

The flip side is that as a result he's very straightforward and assured. It makes de-personalization from his choices a lot easier.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I'm going to be honest with you: I haven't fully decided how Zetsu works! I've done extensive roleplay as fusion characters before (think in similar terms as Steven Universe) so I'm not uncomfortable or unfamiliar with the concept. I'm just not...entirely sure...how the concept is carried out? Like if he's always, literally, two people that happen to share a body or if they're one person. The solution in the roleplay I mentioned is that the answer has to be both. So that's how I write him! Sometimes thoughts are from one of them, sometimes thoughts are from another. They, however, have a LOT of common ground and it makes it easy to make him coherent when I write.

Zetsu has such a disconnect from other people. One half has a nearly scientific, detached sort of interest in humans while the other is, as far as I can tell, the personification of hatred for humanity and a desire to start over? I think that makes him a very callous person with a great sense of humor. I also think this makes it very difficult for him to know his feelings when it comes to feeling positively, connectingly towards those around him. Stop that, feelings! I don't like that! Surely what I *really* want is control and to belittle the person! ...Why don't I feel better.

He just stares. There she is, just as he wanted. Scared, desperate, underneath his thumb, remorseful of her actions...and yet. And yet. ...He is not satiated.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Tobi is a caricature of what Obito thinks of his child self, a genre-aware character who he uses to tell the kind of story he thinks life is. He is flagrantly foolish, cheery, useless(?), emotional, and personal. Tobi has all of the traits that Obito thinks he was as a naive kid and turns it up to 11, and THEN he uses the persona to be mean to people. I'm kind of obsessed with it, I think that's hilarious. When I write for him, I constantly think of how he compensates for having a masked face by greatly exaggerating his physical movements and tone of voice. He is, at heart, a performer doing a performance.

Obito himself...so he runs on the assumption that if he succeeds, then everything he's ever done will be justified. Right? I think that results in someone simultaneously so sure of themself while also feeling like he's stepping on nails every step of the way. Something deep in him has to be uncomfortable and hate it. For this reason, as the story develops, I think in the fic he's relieved. He sees purpose in seeing joy and relationships develop when Takara is there because he sees it as a demonstration of sorts. Him learning what it takes to try to make a world worth living in...which is ultimately what he plans to do.

If you want to know anything more specific, do let me know! Thanks for the ask uvu

[gutsby]

Guts you are a fucking insane writer and I'm so grateful we have you, like your works are absolutely incredible they are hot but also like lyrical.. so beautifully written.. you know? Thank you for sharing with us. do you have any advice for someone who has wanted to give writing fics as an outlet a try but feels like they're not creative or talented enough? Tips/tricks sorta thing? Love u madly deeply

FIRST, I LOVE YOU.

SECOND, thank you so much!!! I’m so so glad you enjoy my brainrot stories and I hope to keep them coming for y’all!! 🥹🩷🩷

THIRD, THAT’S SO EXCITING!!!! Fic writing (or any kind of creative writing, really) is the fucking best, and I’d be happy to share some tips!! Pick and choose whichever ones speak to you, but I hope these can be of some use 😩

No matter what you or anyone else says/thinks, YOU ARE CREATIVE AND TALENTED ENOUGH. Wherever your writing goes, whatever you choose to do with it, is enough. I know writing (and sharing your ideas) can seem daunting, but please don’t ever count yourself out of an opportunity just because you’re worried your work won’t be up to snuff!!

READREADREADREADREADREAD! READ!!! Not only fanfic, but flash fiction, short stories, novellas, novels, ANYTHING. I cannot overstate the importance of being an avid, active reader when it comes to improving your own writing. I sometimes struggle to find the time to read and write and work and live life, so I try to set reasonable goals. If nothing else, I read at least 5 pages per day of the book I’m reading, or I pick a short story and go with that. Lately I’ve been trying to expand the kinds of short stories I read, so I have a handful of websites to find what I like: (I’m on mobile so apologies if the formatting below is fucked 😭)

Project Gutenberg (good for finding classics and other popular stories)

The New Yorker (free 30-day trial and I think you get a few stories for free every month after ??)

Lightspeed (I’m not big on sci-fi/fantasy but trying to branch out!)

This loooooong list of literary magazines - not all are free, but many of them are

Write on the Tumblr app (or Notes). I may be one of the only freaks that does this, but I write every single one of my stories on mobile. I just prefer it to typing on a computer. It also may help with making the writing process seem less scary - at least for me, something I’m typing up on my phone doesn’t feel as “important” or intimidating as sitting down to stare at a blank computer screen or paper!

Find a beta reader/share with friends. I haven’t done this myself because I’m a PUSSY and still kinda scared to share my stories with people I know, but getting feedback from a semi-neutral third party can help improve your writing a ton! And also may be less scary than dropping your first fic to a whole online audience if you haven’t done it before !!

Follow whatever the fuck you feel inside at the moment and run. And run. And run. Seriously. I’ve heard this referred to as ‘pantsing’ (?), and it may not work for everyone, but I think some of my best stories came from a single dumbass idea (or even a line) that I let flow and grow and be whatever my brain wanted it to be. No planning or outlining. With ‘Cowboy Killers’ I just really, really, really wanted to use the line, “I’m gonna lay this motherfucker out” and have Reader throw a drink in Joel’s face, and that was it. No thoughts, just profanity and dumb, drunk antics. Don’t be afraid to start somewhere strange or random or really simple and build your story from there.

Speak your dialogue. Something that can be particularly tricky starting out is getting your dialogue to sound like real people are speaking it. You can have characters pontificating and waxing poetic all day long, but the truth is that most of us don’t talk in super long, flowery monologues. We use slang and sentence fragments and sometimes totally nonsensical sayings, and we struggle to find our words. Feature those things in your dialogue, and it should sound more natural, especially when you’re saying it out loud to yourself while you write.

I think this tip is from Stephen King (whose book on writing, cleverly titled On Writing, has some fantastic insight if you want more tips), but when it comes to picking an ending for your story, don’t go with the first one you think of. Odds are your reader is going to be thinking the same thing as you, and it’s nice to give them a little surprise if you can ;-)

There are SO many more pieces of advice you’ll glean over the years—just be patient with this process and with yourself and try to have fun with it!!! Alright shutting the fuck up now I hope this was helpful! Best of luck with your writing!!! 🫶🏼🩷🩷

[girlboypersonthingy]

can I request a list of like green flags and red flags for each of the characters in voltron? btw I love your writing:)

Hello friendo, thank you sm! Thanks for the request, I adore this idea. Also…Sorry y’all, I was posting like every other day for two weeks and then I hopped off for like two months. Oof life is really life-ing rn. I honestly chose to write this prompt before a lot of other requests bc it seems like an easy and short thing to bust out quickly. I swear, I will get to the rest eventually 🩵 keep sending in requests if you’d like! And as always… ENJOY~

KEITH ❤️

Red Flags 🚩

TERRIBLE AT COMMUNICATING. We all know Keith is stubborn and easily overwhelmed with a short temper. He doesn’t really know how to talk to people without getting angry. He feels that bc he has a hard time explaining exactly what he means, people never understand him and that makes him mad.

Bro isn’t scared of anything…and that low key scares everyone else. Like…who isn’t afraid of anything? The whole team has tried sooooo hard to figure out what will get Keith to jump out of his skin and scream like a child but to no avail… Boy just doesn’t flinch, doesn’t care, couldn’t care less about bugs and rodents and clowns and heights or anything like that.

Wears his gloves in the shower sometimes. Like wtf ???

Green Flags ✅

Also bc he is not afraid of anything, boy will protect his friends/family/partner SO HARD. He will verbally AND physically tear someone apart just for looking at you the wrong way. Very protective and caring but in a good way ya know?

Actually very selfless and not self-centered in the slightest. Keith is very giving and helpful, despite his tough exterior, he’s very caring, observant and considerate. He’ll give the shirt off his back to someone in need. He’s always down to help others. Ugh Sweet heart ❤️‍🔥

Has a sick ass space wolf that will also protect you like COSMO IS A MAJOR PLUS OKAY BIG GREEN FLAG DOGGO

LANCE 💙

Red Flags 🚩

Obvi his biggest red flag is how flirty he is. Boy will flirt with anything that breaths and that can get really annoying sometimes and affect the rest of the team.

Jealous AS FUCK. Like the petty jealous type. Lance is the kind of guy to pretend he has a partner back home just bc some alien girl he was flirting with said she had a partner already. He’s like “OH YEAH? Wow cool me too, same same, yeah….” But homie’s ego is a bit sore now…

Lies a lot. Lance just panics sometimes and tells a lie. He knows it’s wrong and he always feels guilty after lying to someone but it always just slips out. His mouth moves faster than his brain most the time.

Green Flags ✅

THE BEST HUGGER/CUDDLER OMFGGGGGG. Lance is the best hugger and cuddle buddy ever, period, end of story, try to change my mind. His long arms always stretch fully around the recipient’s torso and he squeezes tight enough to make you feel warm but not smothered. Usually will rest his chin on the other person’s head if they’re short enough (so Pidge obvi).

Very aware of other’s moods/body language/tone of voice. Everyone thinks Lance is “the dumb one” but he’s actually very in tune with what’s going on in the moment, what’s going on around him. I think he can tell how others feel the second he sees them. Good intuition kinda thing. An empath for sure.

Very considerate and often remembers the little things about people. Does he remember what he learned in class just a couple days ago? Pffft heck no! Does he remember everyone’s birthday, every year and get them a very thoughtful gift? HELL YEAHH I LOVE THIS SWEET BOY OMFG 🩵

SHIRO 🖤

Red Flags 🚩

Honestly…idfk Shiro is so perf. Perfect baby boy all the way

Maybe he could seem too nice at first…? Like when someone is nice but ur like “are you for real? Or are you fake and evil and you’re hiding something?” I think Shiro could be perceived as being fake nice at first.

Omg I feel like Shiro is one of those “ oh no, that looks delicious but I can’t. I’m watching my carbs.” YOU KNOW SHIRO IS A GYM DUDE WHO COUNTS HIS CALORIES PLZ

Green Flags ✅

ALSO AN A+ HUGGER. Imagine those big ass arms holding you so softly and so close to his big, warm body. Omg so comforting, so relaxing. Often gives a gently squeeze just before letting go and pulling away. Ugh 😩❤️‍🔥

Literally the most trustworthy man in the universe. Will defend his friends, loved ones, and planet until the end of time. Shiro would die before revealing any secrets you’ve asked him to keep. The best person to vent to bc he’ll never tell another soul about it. He’s like a personal diary

Shiro is sooooo patient. Definitely the most patient one on the team. He really does take his own advice…ya know, patience yields focus 😌 very sweet, calm man. We love Shiro

PIDGE 💚

Red Flags 🚩

GIRL WILL WORK HERSELF TO DEATH PLZ GO CHECK UP ON HER, BRING HER FOOD AND WATER, GENTLY FORCE HER INTO BED SHE NEEDS SLEEP.

Lowkey kinda moody and can get snappy very easily. Pidge is a sweet heart and very smart and a good team player but she’s also stubborn and will yell to get her point across or make herself heard (she’s an Aries…what’d you expect?)

Sometimes very conceited and braggy about how smart she is. Like yeah Pidge, we know you’re a genius and you could code in your sleep. WE GET IT. UR SMART. GEEZ 😒

Green Flags ✅

Pidge is so baby. Yeah, she can get snappy and braggy sometimes but…SHES SO BABY PLZ FORGIVE HER. She’s just young and stressed okay? Give her a break. She’ll apologize eventually with puppy dog eyes and a soft voice and while she looks adorable, she is being sincere and really wants to resolve this.

Very loyal and determined. I mean look how hard she searched and fought for her dad and brother. She won’t stop for anything or anyone once she has her mind set. Pidge Will never leave you behind and will always turn back to help someone in need.

Androgynous royalty. Pidge is soooo chill about her gender and identity. We love a confident babe 🏳️‍🌈💚

HUNK 💛

Red Flags 🚩

Boy is too scared sometimes. I think Hunk has really bad anxiety and it’s not the anxiety that is the red flag, it’s how he copes with it…which he doesn’t. Hunk let’s his anxiety get the best if him sometimes…but he’s trying.

Honestly…does Hunk really have any other red flags??? Baby boy is so sweet idk 🤷🏻

Over eats to the point of getting sick sometimes…and never learns his lesson. (Me asf)

Green Flags ✅

THE SWEETEST MOST CONSIDERATE AND THOUGHTFUL MAN IN THE UNIVERSE OMFG WHAT A SWEET HEART 😩💛 honestly just a very good guy. We love Hunk.

Obvi his cooking skills!!! Can cook for any occasion, on any cooking surface, in any conditions. Can cook so many different dishes from so many rich cultures around the world! So talented. His food always hits.

THE ABSOLUTE BEST at cheering others up. Soooo funny and silly and kind and relatable. He tries so hard to brighten others’ days when they need it. Will stop what he’s doing just to go cheer up a friend or loved one and watch them smile again.

MATT 🧡

Red Flags 🚩

Interrupts A LOT. In any given conversation, he will interrupt and talk over someone else at least once every minute. Can get really annoying sometimes but in his defense, if he waits too long to speak up, he’ll just totally forget what he was gonna say.

Like Lance, I think Matt would be overly flirty and act like a Fuck boy sometimes. Like bro sit your nerd ass down, that person is SOOO out of your league plz chill.

Can not take anything seriously (unless it comes to his family or his or anyone else’s safety) but day to day, Matt makes so many dumb and inappropriate jokes at the worst times. Ugh 😒

Green Flags ✅

Very brotherly to everyone he considers a friend or family. Protective, constantly checking up on others, making sure they have eaten, asking if they need anything from him. He cares a lot. Bonus points bc he’s a very good brother to his actual sibling too. Aww Pidge and Matt are sibling goals. 🥹

HOT AS FUCK NO MATTER HIS HAIR STYLE/LENGTH. You can fight me on this. Matt is gorg and so is his hair at every single moment throughout the show.

Extremely accepting and open minded. Matt treats everyone he meets equally and never seems phased when he meets others so different from himself. He may ask some questions for the sake of his own curiosity, but would never pass judgment on another person.

[ninjastormhawkkat]

Heart of chaos

A year had passed since the B.E.A.W Labs organization had fallen. Since all the events had taken place. Becky being taken along with Bob. The poor girl being experimented on by a cruel scientist who had no love for anyone but himself. Matthew had broken out of the facility with her, Carl and Steven. Gene's true identity being revealed along with losing his Dr.Two-Brains persona. Shocking revelations unfolded. Betrayals and redemption. Things had calmed down significantly since but that didn't mean life had been dull. It certainly wasn't for Fair City. Especially with the villains, heroes and its eccentric inhabitants livening up the city. Becky had been making a wonderful recovery. Though she still wasn't at her full recovery Becky was still making so much more progress than the year prior. Gene still had identity issues, dealing with the loss of Squeaky. Though he didn't go through it alone. The still mad scientist had his family and friends help him through everything. Matthew and Carl took up residency within the city. A house that wasn't too far from their sons. Life in this place was definitely lively and peaceful in comparison to the hellish place many innocent souls were imprisoned in. Matthew was less exhausted than before. Relaxing within the living room in his son's house, watching whatever was put on the television. Matthew felt his eyes beginning to droop. Sleepiness hitting him out of nowhere. He simply allowed himself to doze off, not fighting it. Knowing that he was safe there. It wasn't until he felt weight on him that Matthew opened his eyes. Usually a dog or cat would be the cause for this but Matthew met many eyes. Fluffy had snuck into the house yet again. A small warm smile spread across his facial features, patting the spider on its head. Fluffy leaned into Matthew's hand, making soft happy noises. It was funnily cute to him. Though he understood as to why Gene was so afraid of him. Even Carl was squeamish around the giant spider. “Aw, who's a good boy? You are! You're a good boy!” Matthew couldn't help but baby talk the arachnid. He looked up, wriggling his chelicerae in response. As to say ‘Me! I'm a good boy!’ He chuckled at that, giving Fluffy gentle scritches. It was like a huge puppy in a spider's body. Though the peacefulness was interrupted by a sudden shout. “NO! WHY IS IT HERE AGAIN?!” Gene was in the doorway of the living room. Looking quite terrified at the huge arachnid. Fluffy instantly moved around on Matthew's lap to look at Gene. Excitedly jumping off of the supervillain's lap in favor of his son. He bolted right for the mad scientist, causing him to yelp loudly and make a run for it. “SOMEONE KEEP THAT ABOMINATION AWAY FROM ME!” Matthew gave a small laugh. “Can't help but feel abit rejected there.” Archie, who was quiet until then, responded. “I know that feeling.” This caused Matthew to jump up startled. “Don't do that! I'm old. Also I could accidentally blast you.” Archie blinked in confusion. “You didn't notice me? I came in with Fluffy. He got loose and snuck into the house. I just came to bring him back before he got to Gene. Too late for that now.” Archie frowned. “I can't help but be jealous at how much Fluffy loves him. Though Gene is terrified of him. That spider just won't listen to me when it comes to his favorite person.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “You want me to help you?” Matthew was being genuine with his question. He didn't want his son dying of fright from the giant arachnid. “That would be greatly appreciated. I have to take him back home. He can't avoid taking his medication this time.” Matthew got up, stretching first before doing anything else. This earned him a strange look from Archie. “What? I said I'm old. If I don't stretch I'll pull a muscle.” The hero shrugged. “Let's go get him soon. I have to look after Charlotte as well.” Archie always had the brightest smile when Charlotte was brought up. Either by him, Sunshine or anyone else. It was sweet. “Alright, alright.” They were completely unaware of an enemy observing them. Waiting.

Miss Power growled in frustration at the display she was witnessing through a window to the Boxleitner or rather the Woods household. A display she thought was very disgusting. How badly the alien conqueror wanted to charge right in their and obliterate everyone in her sights. She couldn't do her usual tactics and tricks right now, not after what she learned after coming back. She was still ticked off after that little alien brat Wordgirl and her parents dupe and tricked her into leaving the planet in defeat. There was no way she could go back to her planet and face her people with such a shameful stain to her otherwise brilliant record. Fueled by revenge and hatred, Miss Power spent her time preparing, training, and waiting so she could exact her revenge against those who wronged her, against the little hybrid girl and her freak of a family that humiliated her. Sadly when Miss Power and her loyal sidekick Colonel Gigglecheeks did decide to return, they were not prepared for the recent changes that had happeend in their absence. Miss Power did not care much for this Darius person or B.E.A.W labs, she had seen those like them a dime a dozen before on other worlds. The alien wished she could have congratulated the person who tortured and dehumanized Wordgirl and her sidekick. If it was up to her, Professor Ross Moran would receive high honors among her people for his actions. She did give her condolences at his unmarked gravestone. While the recent trauma Wordgirl and her sidekick have suffered gave Miss Power an opportunistic advantage, the alien conquerer unfortunately could not risk using it especially with her grandfather around. Miss Power was amazed at hearing about the past and recent exploits of Maddrix the Malicious. She was shocked that someone so bloodthirsty and powerful was the father of that scientist who used to have a mouse brain attached to his skull as well as a weird cheese obsession. To her disappointment, Miss Power could clearly see the man was too human and had regretted his actions in the past. Actions that would have made him highly respected among her people despite him being human. Still Miss Power wasn't going to risk striking back while that old coot was still alive. Age did not always equate to weakness according to what she had been taught. Even though he was old, Maddrix was clearly still powerful. It was likely that her and Gigglecheeks would wind up dead by the man's hands before they could claim revenge and victory. A chittering sound snapped Miss Power out of her musings. She turned her head to see her sidekick give her a concerned look. He chittered again and asked 'So what are we going to do?' Miss Power smiled and scratched her sidekick's head which he enjoyed. "Don't worry Colonel Gigglecheeks. We'll get our revenge soon. We just need to learn more about Mr. Malicious and what weaknesses he might have so we can use it to defeat him." Miss Power cooed. She then took her sidekick and flew off without anyone being the wiser. Miss Power was brash and bold and could be tricked sometimes, but she was no fool. The alien conqueror learned long ago that the best way to win your battles was to be prepared and know your enemy more than they know themselves. Carl sighed with relief and slight exhaustion as he sat down in a comfy chair. He had just finished sweeping the floor of his and Matthew's home. Now all he had to do was sit and relax until his husband got home. Carl wanted to try a nice 'mom and pop' owned restaurant that one of Gene's friends, Chuck, had recommended to the man. Carl had been itching to get out and do something more and more recently. If he had to be honest, he was getting bored. In the past, Carl had his job and work as a scientist to keep him occupied along with spending time with his husband and kids. Unfortunately after his 20 year imprisonment, Carl couldn't step in another official science lab ever again without a severe anxiety and panic attack @dualnaturedscientist

[monstercampus]

Ellie help I have werewolf brain rot and Kirk has been living in my mind rent free the past few nights 😩 please tell me more about him, does he have a secret soft side or is being mean his love language and you know he cares about you if he's giving you a hard time? Why does he live in a dorm by himself? Where is he on the possessive scale? Honestly just tell me everything you know about him so I can simp to the best of my ability 🥺😫🙏

And actually while I'm here, anything about Elliott or Julian would also be tasty 👀👀👀 forgive me for the werewolf team fic altered my brain chemistry and I may never be the same

absolutely !! !!!!! i am at your mercy uwu <33 (this is mostly stream of consciousness so if u want more i am READY)

(cws: kirk being a sap + lore)

Kirk is very much that way--giving you a hard time is generally how he shows he cares about you. He's only truly mean to those he doesn't care about, and trust that there is a difference even when you get frustrated over his attitude in the beginning. He didn't grow up with a lot of love in his household so it's really not his area of expertise, he never really learned how to show it and only started experiencing affection when he joined the pack and made friends with all the other werewolves. Being snuggled, having his hair stroked instead of pulled, listening to his friends talk about him being handsome and smart even if he's got a shitty attitude.....it's weird to him. He doesn't hate it deep down, but he hates how it makes him feel vulnerable when he doesn't want to be.

'Vulnerable' is barely even in his vocabulary, which is why he comes at you with so much heat at first. He'd been hoping and praying that you two could boink, have a good time, and then you would pretend like it never happened so he wouldn't have to face any of those feelings he has when he looks at you. But when you don't, and when you're just so sweet, Kirk can't handle it and has to revert to what he knows: being a dick. Not nearly to the extent of how he is with other people, but just enough to keep you at arm's length in his constant fear that you're gonna end up making him feel like he isn't totally worthless. Because what would he do then? He's accepted the role of being an irredeemable, raging douchebag for pretty much all his life. He's got an attitude, his temper is awful, he doesn't consider himself that good-looking, he's got some of the worst grades out of the whole pack, he fixates on things and lets them consume all his thoughts, and he hasn't even got any palate to boot and will eat just about anything, even if it's on the verge of spoiling. He's total garbage and he's friends with a pack of people that couldn't be more perfect; Julian is incredibly charming, Portia's practically a genius, Nick is insanely handsome, Elliott is so gentle and really funny, Priam is a total sweetheart and Athos is the pinnacle of cool in his eyes. How could he even think of measuring up to all that, much less stick out among the rest and prove he's worth even a little bit of your love?

That may be the most frustrating part about Kirk--he can be the prickliest guy you know and he would die before he ever says those things out loud, but he seriously admires his friends and you yet he has little to no belief in himself. Granted, growing up he would've gotten his ass beat for showing that kind of weakness, so it's still deeply ingrained in him as an adult--especially since the pack are pretty much the first friends he's ever made on his own. And at his core, he's jealous. Jealous of them and their nice families, jealous of how well they all turned out despite going through their own struggles, jealous of how easy it is for them to be open when he's terrified of people finding out he's bi, jealous of you for being so brave and so beautiful in equal measure....so that's why the best thing he can do--in his own opinion of course--is to be your collective guard dog.

After all, Kirk isn't afraid to bite. His instincts are hard to control in his human form, could you even imagine how feral he can get when he's full wolf, or even just close to the full moon? If anything it's what he's good at; hunting, beating ass, and taking a punch. If he can't be as good as you and the others deserve, the least he can do is make sure that sweetness and the goodness of your souls isn't ever dominated by someone else. He'll spill blood, he doesn't care. He would even get suspended if it came to that, expelled, arrested, whatever it takes and he'll let the chips fall where they may. You'll know his love for you is real when he starts acting protective over you, not only when other people try to bother you but as far as your daily needs as well. Have you eaten properly? Are you thirsty? Do you need to sleep? When's the last time you stretched? He acts like it's a favour he's doing for you, like you're a little wolf that needs caring after, but in truth it settles his own self-doubts and makes him happier knowing that he's doing something for you--that he's taking care of you like a mate would, and when you smile at him or thank him for his help he just melts. He would do anything to keep hold of that smile.

.....Which is why he's got a plan in his head for after graduation. He and Nick are the oldest and thus are going to graduate first of all of you, so once that's over and done with he's got plans to start building a place for you all to properly call 'home'. It's nothing crazy--just a cabin in the woods--but if there's one thing he can confidently say he's good at it's woodworking, and he's sketched out the designs to make it everything you could ever want.

Personal rooms for you, him, and Portia who has trouble falling asleep when it's noisy. A big living room with enough sofas to fit you all. Polished oak walls like Julian grew up with and always wanted to see again. A bathtub big enough to fit Nicky's giant, muscly legs without spilling over. Tables and chairs to fit everyone and more, to fit all the family gatherings and maybe even the pups you might have one day. A garden out back where he'll plant those ugly little flowers Elliott loves. Trees and greenery around where they can run and hunt and play during the full moon, totally obscured by the rest of the world. A big fucking chandelier in the dining room to intimidate any friends you bring over that think they're hot enough shit to snatch you. It's gonna be perfect, it's gonna be the one thing he can say he's proud of in practically his whole life. It'll be a gift to all of you for putting up with his assholery for so damn long, for sticking with him even when he couldn't find a single reason why you should.

That's the kind of love Kirk shows. Words don't mean much to him--actions and acts of service are how he expresses his affections, because it's much simpler for him to put work into something he can touch and measure and paint rather than throw some flimsy words around and call it love. Plus, one of the reasons why he lives in his own dorm is because his downtime is incredibly important to him. Usually he would request a private one-bedroom apartment, but this year he was assigned roommates that he very quickly drove away with his annoying habits almost entirely on purpose. If he's not comfortable with someone, then like hell is he going to share an intimate living space with them--and after a long day he just needs time to be completely alone. He has to think, work on his projects, exercise, chew on something, and have no prying eyes around that will impede his progress in trying to figure out how the hell he can try to make himself worthy of being loved by you. A dumb, violent wolf reaching to grab the very moon from the sky.

[mister-eames]

how do you think arthur and eames would take in other slowly growing old.. I don’t see either of them as characters being insecure about themselves but how the other person would see it is kinda a mystery and exciting.. so how do you think it would go? hugs xx

Oh my goodness I love this question. I agree on them not being overly insecure in themselves - not much, or too seriously, at least. They may lament a thing here or there but nothing that would take up too much mental space.

I know it sounds a bit cliche, but overall I think they'd fall more in love with each other, tbh. Growing older is a sign of survival against an often unkind world. Of experience. It's the sexiest fucking thing in the world to see your SO earn those signs of age alongside you, to say you made it, you keep making it, despite everything life has thrown at you, you are strong enough to survive.

Though, at first, I can see Arthur having a sort of existential crisis about it.

Not because he finds Eames any less attractive. On the contrary, he loves Eames extra padding, the changes in him; the very real markers that signify that they both have survived and they are experiencing this very real privilege to get older and to do it together; that they get to share a life, full of good and bad memories - to trust someone with who you were, who you are, and who you are going to be.

But in that same regard, I can see it finally hitting Arthur in a very real way (kind of the way it hits all of us); oh... our time here is actually limited... isn't it.

Perhaps it's when they're no longer in dreamshare, risking their lives, but it occurs to Arthur in a strange, sudden sense that some day the world will go on without them. That they are in fact, mortal, despite cheating death so often in their dreams and in real life too.

Arthur might be having this crisis at 35 or 45 (probably has it every ten years after his mid-thirties tbh) and he has literal decades ahead of him, but their own own mortality really hits him. He knew, intellectually, and with Mal and Dom, and with others in his life, that nothing is guaranteed. It's just... he feels like he has earned this life with Eames, after all they've been through together and personally, and it's not even that they're geriatric or "old" by any means, but the signs are there - they are not getting younger. They are visibly growing older. There's the greys, and the aches, and the weight gain here, the fat loss there.

The fact is plain and simple with life: there is no turning this car around.

Time is a real thing. One day it starts tick-tick-ticking away very loudly in Arthur's brain, like a bomb about to go off, setting off the same kind of panic in Arthur that says do something about it -- but there is nothing to be done about it. That's the worst part. It's just life, and not even Arthur, point man extraordinaire can mitigate it or stop it.

So Eames unearths the source of Arthur's panic after Arthur takes up three new languages, asks Eames for the fiftieth time if he's sure he won't regret not having kids, dyes his hair to get rid of the greys, takes up trumpet lessons and books them a cruise or seven - and then Eames is utterly bewildered by Arthur's heightened state of existential panic because he's not even fucking old, they've never been better or happier.

At first, Eames is like, "Calm down, dear. Complain to me when we have liver spots and we're both using walkers to get around. Old is just a state of mind."

Arthur, in the midst of frantically planning a new diet for them both sans-alcohol, is not amused.

So Eames asks him, "What are you so afraid of?"

"I don't know... losing time, I guess." Arthur replies. "Or... not making the most of it."

To which Eames asks plainly, fondly, "Aside from spending your days panicking, what are you gonna do about that? What do you need to do, at the end of it all, on your final day, to look back and say 'I regret nothing'?"

"I..."

"Ask yourself: what does your life without regrets look like?"

Arthur thinks, and after a long pause says:

"I... need us to live... exactly as we are now."

"That's good."

"Maybe tell you I love you more."

"And I will do the same."

Arthur takes the deepest breath he's had in days.

Then Eames adds, "By the by, I hear that not being on your husbands back about folding laundry is the key to a long, happy life."

"Nice try," Arthur rolls his eyes, taking his beloveds face in his hand and kissing that cheeky smile. "Speaking of which. I hear helping your husband fold the laundry does wonders for longevity."

--

The press of his lips against Eames and the quiet laughter between them in that moment, is one he never forgets.

--

Later, once all the laundry is folded and they're enjoying a glass of wine, Eames will Arthur that he is wrong. They are not losing time - that every day is more time they gain together.

Arthur will concede that Eames is right, sometimes.

--

As for Eames, well. He has all the pride, heart growing with love, etc etc, but you best believe he has several canvases and sketches and papers with a timeline of every iteration of Arthur, a visual chronicle of a beautiful man, drawn by Eames, over time, in varying mediums.

Not to say Eames has never felt strange about growing older, or Arthur growing older. But he's very much at peace with it, and earned the ability to be at peace with life - and himself. He's not afraid, not when there is so much to look forward to, and so much to learn.

And so many more versions of Arthur to appreciate and adore; on paper, and in person.

--

They both take the other ageing as something wonderful, something to be cherished. We only get one chance to get old, after all, but we get near endless chances to grow older. They don't get it right every day -- that is to say that sometimes life is an alarm clock that you get up and get on with on first ring, and sometimes in life you just press snooze and both is okay -- but they get it right often enough that they can call theirs 'a life, lived'.

So, yeah, they fall deeper and deeper in love with all the signs of age on each other -- it's all the time they've had, and all the incredible time they still have to gain.

[indigo-anonymous]

I’d love to hear which other songs brain rot you for the fic!!

Yippee!! Time for the Splinter Fractures brainrot song list (which is by no means definitive and can be expanded at any time)! Buckle up, because it's gonna be a long post (I'm halfway finishing this in drafts and it's SO LONG already). I want to go over my favourite lyrics for each of them :D

I'll go over the two that were brought up previously first, to get those out of the way. All links lead to YouTube videos of the songs, since I know not everyone has Spotify.

Just A Man from Epic the Musical - Personally I see this as Sinner!Adam singing to Charlie (mayhaps during one of their sessions?) Some of these thoughts on the lyrics aren't specifically Splinter Fractures (that goes for all of them) but in part my own interpretation of (sinner) Adam :)

I look into your eyes and I think back to the son of mine (Abel) You're as old as he was when I left for war (When he was killed by Cain) Will these actions haunt my days? (nightmares eyyy) Every man I've slain Is the price I pay endless pain? Close your eyes, and spare yourself the view How could I hurt you? (Charlie is like the perfect blend of both her parents, both people he loved. This would be less of a question abt the future and more of a "why did I do that?")

I'm just a man, who's trying to go home Even after all the years away from what I've known (he's homesick for Eden, when everything was still good and happy) I'm just a man who's fighting for his life Deep down I would trade the world to see my son and wife (Beneath everything, he just misses being with the people he cares about)

But when does a comet become a meteor? When does a candle become a blaze? When does a man become a monster? When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster? (Everything slowly going wrong, and losing control, to the point where he becomes the monster, the leader of exterminations, killing millions for the protection of heaven.)

I'm just a man... (He needs Charlie to recognise that he's only human. He's not an angel, not someone incredible powerful or untouchable. He's just a man, and he has made a lot of mistakes, because making mistakes is human... But simultaneously, this is regret, and an admittance to himself. He doesn't want to be human. He wishes he was an untouchable angel, but he's not.)

- • -

Monster from Epic the Musical - I've talked about this one in a different post already, so you know the brainrot is reallll. To me this song kind of tells the story of Adam becoming the Lead Exorcist. How he basically gave up his humanity to protect Heaven, both out of a sense of duty and because the people up there (his kids) matter to him and he's afraid of seeing them get hurt.

How has everything been turned against us? How did suffering become so endless? (When they got kicked out of Eden, the rest of their mortal lives was him and Eve against the barren world, nigh endless suffering was their punishment) How am I to reunite with my estranged? (As much as he hates Lilith and Lucifer for abandoning him and making him out to be the villain, he still missed them) Do I need to change? (He believes himself to be the problem)

What if I'm the monster? What if I'm in the wrong? What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along? What if I'm the one who killed you Every time I caved to guilt? (Cain and Abel </3)

The in-between part here is specific examples from Epic, but there's plenty of similar stories to Adam. Was Lilith wrong to take the apple or was she actually being trapped here by the angels? Was Lucifer wrong for choosing her side, or was he just taking care of someone he loved? Were the angels wrong for kicking him and Eve out of Eden, or did they deserve it?

If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away Would that make us stronger? Would it keep our foes at bay? (This is Adam suggesting the exterminations after the initial uprising. He doesn't really want it to happen, but he feels like it's a necessary evil to keep his loved ones safe) If I became the monster to everyone but us And made sure we got home again Who would care if we're unjust? (His reasoning for why the exterminations aren't evil or unjust: they attacked us first, I'm making sure they can't hurt us again. Especially personal in Splinter Fractures because he just had to see Abel die for a second time) If I became the monster...

I actually drew this part because the brainrot was getting to me. I don't love how it turned out but I spent hours making it so I might as well put it here 0_o

Then I'll become the Monster I will deal the blow And I'll become the Monster Like none they've ever known So what if I'm the Monster Lurking deep below? I must become the Monster And then we'll make it home (again, he feels like it's something he has to do to keep people safe. To some degree he blames himself for Eden, and original sin, and this is him taking responsibility for what he believes to be his mistakes. He's aware of how all of Hell will perceive him if he does this, and he chooses to do it anyway)

- • -

Don't Save Me by Chxrlotte - Ah yes, a song about giving up, and asking people to just let you drown in your pain. Very much a song of self-loathing which is so Adam to me, especially in Splinter Fractures.

I came from the darkness, hiding on my own Like rain thoughts are harmless, leave me here alone The waking nightmares aren't as bad as dreaming, I suppose (life is a nightmare but the sleeping nightmares are worse)

Maybe I'm wretched and deserve this, I don't know (Adam questioning if maybe he really has been evil all along, it's not like he knows why he's in hell to begin with...) Don't save me, I'm almost glad if this is how I go (Ah... wishing for death... almost)

Look into my eyes And tell me what you see A demon in disguise Pretending to be me (hmmm that mirror scene. Also this is very What Lute Sees and convinces herself to believe. That it's not really him, but rather a demon pretending to be Adam) Bury your surprise And listen carefully He lives inside my mind He'll never let me free (Being trapped by your own thoughts, the insecurities will never leave Adam alone! They'll stick with him forever, buried so deep in his soul that he's unlovable, that everyone leaves, that no matter what anyone says, he's just broken.)

The wasteland never ends and it's killing me Wait and count to ten, but I'll never be Able to live, I can't seem to breathe (just a case of the 'shakes' right? Definitely not a panic attack /s) I'll die fading carefully so don't save me (this whole song is about refusing help, which is exactly what Splinter!Adam did practically every time. He only accepted it when the alternative was living on the streets of Hell and all the horrifying shit that comes with that)

Standing on the edge, it's darker now And it's in my head, I can't hear a sound Facing the storm, I'm cast out at sea I'll drown eventually so don't save me (Adam very much believes that at some point he'll just be kicked out again. That this is all temporary, and eventually he'll drown)

I can't live anymore and I'm the one to blame At night my thoughts, they scare me I can't face another day (I feel like I don't need to repeat myself too much. Blaming himself for things that are, in actuality, not really his fault)

Don't save me I think I'm in hell These walls are talking I can tell I've bathed in fire since I fell Don't leave me on my own (this is right at the start of the fic. He's been in Hell for a while and it has damaged him, he finally reaches out for help for the first time, almost begging Lucifer not to just leave him on his own there, and it kickstarts his way out of his hell-spiral)

- • -

Enemy by Imagine Dragons (solo version) - My favourite on this list, to the point where I want to make an animatic of it so badly but I do not have the time or energy to do so. The lyrics just follow the story of Splinter Fractures so well!!! (I had this one in my brain early, so it's far more focussed on the start of the story)

I wake up to the sounds of the silence that allows For my mind to run around with my ear up to the ground I'm searching to behold the stories that are told When my back is to the world that was smiling when I turned (He wakes up in Hell, and the irony is laughable to everyone who recognises him (just Lucifer at the start, Vaggie and to some degree Charlie later))

Tell you you're the greatest But once you turn, they hate us (this one's all heaven, most evident in Lute and Sera. They tell him he's the best, the first man, absolutely great! ...until he becomes a sinner. Then he's nothing but a lowly demon to them, they treat him with disgust at best, and outright hatred at worse)

Oh, the misery Everybody wants to be my enemy Spare the sympathy (Same as before, asking Lucifer to not leave him there. Asking for the slightest drop of sympathy (he only gets it when he has a panic attack after)) Everybody wants to be my enemy (Everyone in Hell hates him for the exterminations, everyone in Heaven hates him for being a demon now. He's got no allies, only enemies)

Your words up on thе wall as you're prayin' for my fall (every sinner, especially those in the hotel, wanted him dead. They were, in a sense, praying for his fall, and they got it) And the laughter in thе halls and the names that I've been called (I can definitely imagine Adam being insecure enough that he always feels like people are laughing at him and mocking him behind his back)

They say pray it away I swear, that I'll never be a saint, no way (Adam is aware enough of his flaws to know he'll never be good enough to be redeemed into Heaven) A chair in the corner is my place I stay I shake and I think about the powers at play, the powers at play (his deal with Lucifer, knowing that a single wrong move will get him kicked back out onto Hell's streets, it absolutely terrifies him) And the kids in the dark that were doomed from the start The child in the basement, face to the pavement Oh, what a statement, love is embracement Love is a constant, love is a basis (there's a lot of different ways to interpret those last few lines: Adam believing the hotel is doomed (which he does), his feelings on the loss of Abel (twice), the fact that he still loves people, again and again, that he keeps trying even though they always leave him (ouch)) He cannot be, she cannot be, they cannot be changed, but keep on praying (He doesn't believe the hotel will ever truly work. One redeemed sinner is probably a fluke. Sinners can't change and become better... right?)

Goodbye (haha that scene in the lobby of the Heaven Embassy hahahaha... </3)

- • -

What Could Have Been by Sting ft. Ray Chen - This one is a lot more recent. Very much focussed around the chapters where they discuss Eden, and the story of Eden in general. It hurts to listen to sometimes, and has made me cry more than once (/pos)

I am the monster you created You ripped out all my parts (Lilith and Lucifer abandoning Adam broke his heart, absolutely shattered him. They are a large part of the why Adam is 'the monster' that everyone sees him as) And worst of all, for me to live, I gotta kill the part of me that saw That I needed you more (His approach to Lilith wanting to leave him was to pretend he didn't want her either. That he didn't care about her or Lucifer, or whatever happened to them)

I hope you know we had everything And you broke me and left these pieces (Them leaving, and especially Lucifer's words about how everyone will pick anyone else than him, definitely broke him to pieces. He was left to put himself back together, but he never truly healed right) I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and I want you to lose like I lose when I play what could have been (His response to Lilith being made infertile may have been harsh, but it was understandably bitter, as a response to the pain they caused him first)

Why don't you love who I am? What we could have been? (Lilith loving Lucifer instead of him, and the two of them choosing to leave together, rather than stay with him. I can imagine it felt to Adam like there was something wrong with him, that he already felt unlovable even before Lucifer rubbed salt in the wound with his later comment/curse)

I am your ghost, a fallen angel (Adam's appearance in Splinter Fractures certainly looks ghostly) You ripped out all my parts I couldn't care what invention you made me 'Cause I, I was meant to be yours (He firmly believed that him and Lilith were meant to be together forever, that's what made her rejection hurt as much as it did. They were literally made for each other, but Lilith still didn't want him)

- • -

That's it, that's the list (for now)! This post is so fucking long aaaaaa. I hope you like it anyways, and if you don't go through all of the lyrics that's fine, thanks for asking anyways <3

Indigo (finally got this out of drafts)

[butchspace]

Hello, I am going to discuss my thoughts on content/trigger warnings as someone living with OCD. I am absolutely open to good faith engagement and discussion on this topic.

Having some thoughts on the idea that adding trigger warnings somehow ultimately harms the person with the trigger. They absolutely can create an easy tool to obsessively control your access to the topics/to avoid them, but I’ve always felt it should be the potentially triggered person’s decision on what they were ready to do about it. Uncontrolled exposure is just as capable of causing obsession as is avoidance, in my opinion.

I think of the (terrible telephone retelling of a) case I heard about while discovering recounts of actual lived experiences with OCD.

—The following example discusses intrusive thoughts about domestic violence.—

A woman had an obsession with being was afraid of hitting her boyfriend. Her compulsion was that she would have to hold her arms stiffly by her side. She recognized this as OCD and sought exposure response prevention. Her therapist told her to try and ignore the compulsion, or potentially do the opposite. The woman became so obsessed with healing she forced herself to keep her hands away from her sides (almost obsessively) and constantly checked whether or not she “still wanted to hit him.” In the end, the ERP just became entangled with her obsessions.

It takes so much strength to face these types of problems and practice the mindfulness and grace with yourself to recognize it. It’s something you really need to be ready for because it’s going to take a lot of effort to do the hard thing when the easy thing is right there.

How can we claim it’s best to “force” exposure on someone else? How can we go around vigilante therapising people we have deemed too ill to do it on their own (or just be left alone)?

This is not to say that anyone is bad if they can’t or don’t want to tag things. More just my thoughts about how pushback against that idea can swing too hard into trying to prove not tagging was morality correct.

Some articles that articulate so much of my experience with OCD:

Having No Cure for OCD Is the Cure

Help! I Have OCD About What’s OCD

In the spirit of bodily autonomy, I think we all deserve agency in our lives no matter how “incompetent” other people may think we are. When you’re ready, you’re ready. There’s no healing to be had sitting around thinking you’re broken or lazy or whatever for not being ready to change. We all owe each other the kindness to do what we can in good faith, too.

I started doing too much table setting in the tags, so I’ll put it under a read more, lol.

I recognize that this isn’t very radically (in the abolition vs reform sense) anti-psychiatry, and I do have a complicated relationship with that idea. I recognize that I have a good deal of privilege (particularly among people with more stigmatized/less understood “disorders”) but this framework is the only one I’ve ever been able to access that gives me any insight into myself at all. That isn’t something everyone can afford to do in several senses.

As a physically disabled person, I just connect my experiences with chronic illness and mental illness (which I think can fall under the umbrella of chronic on its own) more and more these days. What truly was the difference between not being able to do something out of pain versus anxiety? Our brains are organs, too. Our thoughts are chemical and hormonal, too.

One of the fondest memories I have of coming to terms with disability was explaining my experience with an autoimmune condition to a bipolar friend, and he replied that we were “chronic illness buddies.” And I felt so understood as someone who has suffered with various types of anxieties for their entire waking life.