#is it a good use of my time? idk. is it a cathartic one? you bet.

[transmascissues]

Songs sung in T voices? You mean just regular male voices because trans men are men

imagine being so miserable that you see a post about trans joy and pride in transmasculinity and the first thing you think is “i’m going to find a way to see this as transphobia instead”.

i have a t voice. my voice is distinctly different from most cis men’s voices in a way that a lot of other trans people’s voices are distinctly different after being on t. a lot of us have voices with a unique quality to them. the claim that me, a trans man with a t voice, talking about voices like mine somehow implies that my own gender isn’t real…is just fucking wild, honestly.

i think t voices are BEAUTIFUL. i love them so much, having my own voice sound like that was genuinely one of the things i was the most excited about when i started t because to me, that voice is the kind i heard when i watched videos made by other trans guys that taught me about what was possible for me and met other trans guys irl for the first time and got advice on transitioning or just life from them. it’s such a comforting sound and so important to me.

nothing about recognizing that distinctive quality implies that trans men aren’t real men. i have a t voice just like i have a deep voice, a quiet voice, a tonally expressive voice — it’s just a descriptor for one of many things that can make a voice unique. my voice is a “male voice” and it’s also a t voice because i’m a man whose voice has been affected by going on t in a distinctive way. the two aren’t in any way at odds with each other.

if i described my chest as a post-op chest, would you come into my inbox saying “you mean just a regular male chest?” i have a feeling you probably wouldn’t because on some level, even you get that talking about unique parts of living in a trans body doesn’t invalidate who we are. it’s fine if you personally wouldn’t want to describe your voice that way because it makes you dysphoric or isn’t applicable to your voice or isn’t as meaningful to you, but that doesn’t mean it’s morally incorrect for me to do so.

trans bodies are wonderful. visible (or in this case, audible) transness is wonderful. it’s not a bad thing to have features that are distinctively trans, and having those features doesn’t make you less of a man. we don’t have to reject our transness or be exactly like cis men to be real men because cis manhood isn’t the gold standard, it’s just one of many ways to be a man.

(also, not everyone who goes on t is a trans man, so not every t voice is a male voice. it’s funny how the people who get mad at me for being proud of my t voice are always the same ones who have really gender essentialist and binaristic views on transitioning.)

so no, i don’t mean “regular male voices”, i mean fucking t voices because that was a post about unashamed in-your-face proud transmasculinity, not transmasculinity that tries to make itself indistinguishable from cis manhood. please keep your assimilationist bullshit away from my trans joy, thank you very much.

#if there is one thing i will do its sit here at 5am writing essays in response to angry anons #is it a good use of my time? idk. is it a cathartic one? you bet. #anon hate #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #trans men #transmascs

[twinkdemise]

#iasip #mac macdonald #s3e11 dennis looks like a registered sex offender #just rewatched this episode. god it's so good definitely in my top 10 overall in the show #the dinner scene my forever beloved i hold you close to my heart. it's so insanely satisfying from a writing perspective. #the way it all ties together and even though it's a scene about a dinner being fucking ruined and its got these #relatively high emotional stakes its so so. neatly written that it ends up feeling cathartic? in a way #idk what im saying man that scene's just really good #something about mac and charlie's scheme and motivations clashing with their parents' (and franks) #and them being kind of forced to reckon with the fact that their parents are real people with their owns wants and needs #(especially mac charlie ends up using this to his advantage and kind of betraying mac ig) #also a scene that emotional ending with a shot of charlie going Ohh and the seed has been planted is wild. #also mac being so worried about the fact that the vibe might be off... DO YOU WANT FLAT AMBIANCE??? #he just wants things to be normal!! he just wants a normal nice dinner party and normal parents who are together and happy and love eo!! #also there's a motif that shows up repeatedly of him wanting to seem like a good dinner host lol just kind of noticed that idk #maybe reading into this too much but god the theme of him so often being in denial of reality in order to #live up to certain societal standards and achieve normalness. #this is kind of the first (and imo one of the best) episodes with a plot line about mac's relationships with his parents #and their family dynamic in general which i find so so fascinating. #also i think this is the only time (except for the christmas video) where we see mac's parents together. #on a lighter note ig the dinner scene has so many other great quotes... charlies so funny in it #the man doesnt blink mom the man doesnt blink!! #the charmac in this episode was so excellent in general. the car scene where they freak out and become convinced luthers going to kill them. #YOU DONT DO THAT! YOU DONT EAT SOMEONE BECAUSE THEY DONT HAVE HEROIN IN THEIR ASS!! #i do rmbr watching this ep with my dad and him going Well that one was just kind of sad. #which.... i mean yeah. real. #thats it im done i think #also i ended up having to type all this in my notes bc tumblr tagging is so painful #what if i said smth and then went Hey i want to say that a bit differently? oh? youre just straight up not gonna let me do that. oh okay. #fuck you

[joonipertree]

idea for the Boxer!Katsuki and Artist!Reader AU! What if, ON TOP OF a rly bad day w college and being overwhelmed w work, we lost our paints :( n we luv our paints so we cry, but katsuki’s there to make us feel better and get us a new set :3

Thank you so fucking much for this. Idk if you knew but I'm actually making a portfolio for art school and Ive been crying every other night because of how stressed I am and how much I feel like I'm a bad artist. So writing this was cathartic

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: Dom/sub undertones, reader acting out and Bakugo being stern, a peak of what kind of shit I want with older men hsjsjsj, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft katsuki

Katsuki was one of the last people you wanted to see when you're in a bad mood. And that might sound terrible but it's because you never wanted to show such a harsh, negative side of yourself to someone you cared about. You were very much a 'feel and then reappear more regulated' type of person. But Katsuki never let you go home on your own anymore, picking you and dropping you off even on days where he had something to do.

So you trotted towards him with a scowl and no energy to fake anything and he noticed instantly, his own concerned scowl mirroring yours.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said and opened the door, closing it a bit too loudly. You cringed at the sound but buckled yourself in and turned away before the man got in the driver's seat.

"You're shit at lying."

"Fuck off."

Instant regret, a deep inhale from your part as you tensed.

Fuck.

His large hand came on your thigh and you stiffened, all he did was give it a warning squeeze before pulling away. The message was clear. 'Watch it'.

"I'm not willing to discipline you until I know nothing horrible happened but you do know I don't like that shit from you right?"

You said nothing.

"Give me an answer, doll."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah, you are. And you're a smart one that knows that we have rules. That I'd be taking you over my lap if you talked like that."

Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them away, not willing to turn your head to show him.

He knew anyways and he dropped the subject, starting the car and driving off.

Katsuki pulled to a stop at a place that wasn't anywhere near your apartment. You were confused as he got out of the car. Your eyes followed him just as he entered a boba shop.

Oh.

A couple minutes later, he came out with a drink for each of you. You remembered when he said that there just wasn't any point of it, that it seemed stupid and too sweet. But pretty soon, he had his own usual order, which was just Brown Sugar boba tea with the sweetness to a minimum.

Katsuki gave you the drink without even looking your way, sipping on his own. You stared at it for a total of ten seconds before timidly taking a sip. The sweetness broke you out of your sour mood, eyes blinking as you focused on the flavour of your favourite tea. The boba was chewy and soft and it grounded you a bit.

Only after you took a sip, did Katsuki start the car and drive.

When you reached home, the apartment the two of you had started sharing a month prior, Katsuki only gave you time to take off your shoes and put down your bag before he had you over his shoulder.

You struggled, hitting his back and asking him to let you go but he didn't listen...not even feeling it.

And when your ass plopped itself onto the couch, your attempt at running away failed when he easily manhandled you in place.

"I'm not patient enough to coax it out of you, so tell me why you're upset. I'll make it better."

You wanted to refuse but the tears were already dripping down your face.

"I'm so bad at art. I'm so f-fucking bad at it. I don't-" you sobbed and his arms were instantly around you, pulling you onto his lap as you cried into him.

"There's so many deadlines and so many things I have to do and nothing is working. And I don't even know if I'm cut out to be an artist. I'm not good enough, I was never good enough for it. I'm gonna fail-- Katsuki I'm so tired."

Your boyfriend rocked you back and forth, giving you kisses everywhere he could reach, on the side of your face and your head and your hair. And you let the tears fall, hiccuping violently and sobbing without restraint.

"I even lost my fucking paints and I can't live without them and I saved up for them and I'm just doing everything wrong."

You let Katsuki envelope you, squeeze you and warm your inside as you let it all out.

When your sobs died down, Katsuki didn't stop peppering kisses everywhere. It took him a second to speak.

"I didn't know shit about art. It all seemed like fancy, time consuming pictures to me. Hell, even now I don't know shit. But when I saw your art, I felt stuff I thought I didn't know how to feel. And that was the first time I realised that maybe life didn't have to be as shitty as it was. Maybe things didn't have to be ugly."

"When we went to those art galleries, yeah they were cool and pretty but not gonna lie, nothing ever left me speechless like your art did. And yeah...I'm biased as fuck, especially because I thought that the look in your eyes was the prettiest out of everything. That sounds cheesy as shit but you make me feel cheesy as shit."

You had stopped crying, left drained and nuzzled against Katsuki while you looked for an anchor to hold onto. And he held you.

"I like seeing you paint the most though, I like how you focus...I like how you curse under your breath, I like how you grin when something looks right, I like how you scan art supplies before you buy them. I like your paint stained hands and your paint water mugs even when I've accidently taken a sip from them. I like that how you laugh when I do that shit. I love that look of pride you have when you're done and staring at it.

It makes you happy so even if I don't understand the point of it, it means a lot to me because of that. So, whenever that thing stops being fun for you, and really stops being fun for you, I'll support you if you wanna stop. But I gotta keep seeing your work, baby, cuz it's like the inside of your head and it's really neat."

You let a few more tears drop, sniffling and looking into his eyes. There was no ingenuity, only pure emotion. And you let him kiss your tears away, you let him pat your head and you let him make you drink water and feed you.

Because it was never a burden for him to do those things, but a priveledge.

The very next day, the same set of paints were in your bag. Brand new and untouched. Along with three different watercolour paper books. 100% pure cotton, 350 gcm.

With a note that said 'you're still down for a spanking for that shitty mouth of yours. Don't make it a habit.'

#katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #bnha fic #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n

[lavenderlyncis]

Join me in reviewing Olivia Rodrigo's album GUTS. I've waited years for this!!

all-american bitch - 9/10, big fan. I love it when she screams because the world is unfair. same girl, same

bad idea right? - 10/10. I know this one is controversial but I LOVE her more punky songs, I think that's when she's best

vampire - 10/10. I'm not always a fan of piano ballads, but the bridge and outro really make it for me. The hurt turning into anger and despair is just so cathartic. And the video is one of my faves of all time

lacy - 1000/10. What the hell. Did not expect to feel this much emotion from that title. Uhhh... yeah, same. I super relate to that. Whether or not lacy is supposed to be a real person or a manifestation of the beauty standard, this hits. Also, idk if I'm making this up but I dig the romantic undertones, they sell it

ballad of a homeschooled girl - "I made it weird, I made it worse"/10. OLIVIA HOW DID YOU KNOW that I lie awake thinking about all the weird things I did and said, Olivia, did you write this for me specifically??? Every day I am alive IS social suicide. I'm sorry, this is my song, actually. "Can't think of a third line", she's so real

making the bed - "I'm playing the victim so well in my head"/10. How. Does. She. Do. It? I could write an entire essay about this song. Maybe THIS is my song?? She's so good at saying exactly how I feel. I already know that this song will play a million times on my phone. Also I love the drivers license references. Big fan of the making the bed metaphor

logical - 9/10. favourite crime vibes. She's good with these songs about bad relationships. Used to be my favourite thing she did, but now I'm more invested in the songs that are about her/other experiences. That being said this song is really fucking good. This is the Olivia I fell in love with and she's still amazing at doing piano ballads

get him back! - 9/10. Olivia having ANOTHER song with speak-singing where she wants to get back with her ex?? Yes, PLEASE. Bad idea right 2.0. Fucking obsessed

love is embarrassing - 10/10. I said it before I'll say it again, angry Olivia is the best. And she's right, love IS embarrassing as hell

the grudges - 10/10. She does the paino ballads SO WELL. I think this is my favourite one on here. Because, wow, yeah, that is how it is

pretty isn't pretty - i can't rate this/10. GOD, I love it when she talks about insecurities. And don't think I don't see that skipping lunch line. It's sp hard to articulate how this song makes me feel. Especially since I've been low key comparing myself to her, even though we have entirely different bodies and faces. It's nice to know she also struggles with this. And she's right, you could do literally anything to change your appearance and you'd still be unhappy

teenage dream - 100000/10. "Is it recording? Of course it is.", the way I gasped. Okay, I love the interpretation of it ending with a child to be about growing up and childhood innocence. But the line she says?? Especially combined with the meaning of the song it feels a lot like it's about taking away youth by recording it and putting it out there just like she was supposed to be everyone's teenage dream as a child actor and young musician. This feels so personal to her while also being relatable to others. I'm 19 too, Olivia and I are born in the same year. And this is exactly how I feel about growing up. I hope it gets better, my teenage years were crap, I'm tired of being young, but it's also the only thing I can hold onto. I'm honestly terrified of turning 20. But hey, Olivia did it, so... it'll get better, right?

#i should probably stop trying to give songs numbers #they're all perfect to me #or2 #olivia rodrigo #guts olivia rodrigo #or

[lemonmatronics]

THE POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER 3 TRAILER IS SOOO!,?!.?.!.

What a great treat to wake up to—Excuse me while I go insane and spill some thoughts, reactions, theories, and predictions below please

ahem

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SO LIKE FIRST OFF this chapter is gonna fuck, like this looks SO good holy shit

The setting and environment looks amazing but also the new hands mechanic along with the mask ohhhh this is gonna be FUN

Okay rambling about screenshots I took time

First off the environments look great, holy wow

The house itself looks kinda small so idk if that is the orphanage itself or some kind of set. Cause you can see fake sky walls around it, but like this is Playtime Co they would definitely do that to the orphanage also to give an illusion of outside. Either way it looks GREAT and I’m really excited to explore this setting

Just a nice shot of all the critters

I’m really curious if all the critters are gonna be utilized somehow. We know about Catnap and Dogday already, especially after the trailer itself. Though there was also the footage of Bobby running down the hall, looking like a normal plushie, and possibly seeing Hoppy in the trailer too. (I’ll touch on that later)

New Poster

Definitely looks like some company propaganda to try and keep kids from being afraid of CatNap. Judging by the files we got before looks like the results were a mixed bag. Considering the gas is there in the poster it’s definitely a company only poster, not something they could sell outside. They manipulated this kids so bad man :(

A CLEANER LOOK OF THIS THING,,,

THATS A SKELETON COMING OUT OF PUGAPILLAR’S MOUTH…Like that’s just straight up human remains.

I don’t think we’ve ever seen that before in this game. Like blood yeah plenty but BONES? They’re definitely amping things up for this chapter and I’m 100% here for it.

Besides that there’s a ton of plushies and such stabbed onto this weird thing. Is it a shrine? It doesn’t look like it could really move tbh, and if it was meant to be alive those parts aren’t doing anything to help it.

This poor mf

I’ve seen a lot of people speculate this is DogDay, which is a valid guess, but tbh my first thought was Hoppy. You can tell they have long droopy ears, which lines up with both candidates to me. Though I think the ears look a bit slimmer than what Dog Day’d would be, plus the angle on the head looks more like they’re dropping from the top of the head rather than the sides. I feel like if this was DogDay the whole head silhouette would be different because of the ears, which makes me lean towards Hoppy more.

I know her toy gives her long pointed up ears, but going off art and animation her ears can definitely fold

So I don’t think it’s out of the question that as a Bigger Bodies being her ears could fold over like that, especially while stuck like this.

Now I could be the one wrong here but I really think this is Hoppy. Won’t know until the game itself though so, I won’t treat either as divinities yet. It could just as easily be the case everyone else is right and it is DogDay, there’s evidence for that as well (Again, I’ll touch on that later).

So much happened here where do I even start

Obvious out the bat I guess, Kissy Missy is back!! And looks like Poppy isn’t ditching us alone either! Man I cannot tell it Poppy is good or not at this point, gray area? Trailer dialogue definitely sounded like she was supporting us.

“We’re coming! Just hold on!”

It’s really nice seeing Kissy back, really excited to see how she’s gonna help and play into this. I’ve been on the stance that she’s good ever since she helped in chapter 2 so this is really cathartic for me lmao.

As for what Poppy says here I found it interesting, like really interesting. Like, hearing it the first time made me think she casually confirmed something massive interesting. Granted, actually thinking about it longer, it could mean something else entirely. But was that the whole point?

“What’s happening down here is bigger than all of us. I need you. So we can revenge on those monsters who’ve tortured you, who’ve tortured us.”

“Those monsters who’ve tortured you”

Now, once I thought about it this is most likely referring to the literal monsters in the factory. Huggy, Mommy, CatNap, so on and such. But that’s not what my initial assumption was.

When Poppy referred to “monsters”, by first thought was the people working at the factory. I thought she said people at the factory tortured us.

I thought she confirmed that we’re a toy.

Once I thought about it longer, it doesn’t actually confirm that. But what if that’s the entire point? A double meaning line?

Now the player being a toy theory is something that’s been around since chapter 1, a theory I’ve fully stood by since then and still do. I like to think that’s why our character is completely silent, we’re a toy that can’t speak. Mute toys is something we’ve seen plenty of in the factory, more so than toys that actually talk. (Unless you count stuff like the Smiling Critters cartoon or the cardboard cutouts, but I’m talking purely living beings here.)

So while this doesn’t confirm the theory, this line is definitely throwing wood into the fire for me.

DogDay

Wether or not the chained Bigger Body above us DogDay or Hoppy, we have it confirmed here that DogDay is featured heavily in this chapter as an enemy. Again, I really wonder if the other Smiling Critters will show up as threats as well. Maybe a mixed bag of good and bad critters. If the chained up Bigger Body is DogDay, I wonder why he chases us after we assumingely set him free.

One note I’ll give that is to evidence for the chained bigger body being DogDay is that in the thumbnail you can see a shackle on his wrist

His arms are also long and lanky, which is why I won’t completely rule out it possibly being him there. It’s just as possible that it is him, both feel very plausible to me.

Though looking at the game footage, I’m not sure if can can see anything on his wrists. Additionally his arms look much wider than the one in thumbnail.

Additionally, the DogDay in the thumbnail looks so much like a…mascot suit? You can see seams and stitches all over him. Even other Bigger Bodies don’t look like that. Which is something I wanna give its own post to to figure deeper on.

So is this even the same DogDay at all?

It’s not completely out of the question there could be multiple DogDays, though that begs the question, what about other Smiling Critters? What about other toys as a whole?

Here’s my prediction on it. One Bigger Bodies experiment, and then there’s smaller ones approximately the size of their normal toys.

I think the DogDay in the thumbnail is a result of the Bigger Bodies testing, and the one actually chasing us is just a smaller more “normal” DogDay.

But if that’s true then it begs the question, what about other critters? We’ve seen a smaller Bobby before, does she also have a Bigger Bodies version?

Do they all have a Bigger Bodies equivalent?

Is there still a normal CatNap?

Again, all speculation but this chapter especially is really tickling my brain.

And finally we’ve got the man of the hour

Man he is so much lankier than I thought he would be. That definitely explains why his face was so high up on that one cam footage though. Here I was thinking he’d be bulky!

There isn’t too much to say here other than CatNap is definitely gonna be an imposing threat, and I’m very excited to see him in game. So far we’ve mainly seen him through silhouettes, and light peeks at small portions of his design. Seeing him better is game is gonna be a thrill and I’m so ready for it!

Additionally, just for the sake of adding on, we’ve seen these posters apparently from overseas get spread around lately

Both of these definitely look like they’re meant to be company only posters, ones you’d find in the schooling and orphanage areas.

The left poster telling kids to go inside right away when recess is up, nothing super deep here. Just a peek at the schooling that had here, and that these kids had their lives completely contained within the factory.

The second poster is CatNap telling Huggy to go to sleep, another attempt at convincing children CatNap isn’t dangerous. If Huggy is fine they will be too, right?

Anyways that’s my initial thoughts and reactions right after watching the trailer. VERY excited about this game, it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to brainstorm on my own over a game like this so I’m really looking forward to what this chapter has to give.

#long post #poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #catnap #poppy playtime catnap #huggy wuggy #kissy missy #dogday #poppy playtime theory

[pupcuck]

SUBSTITUTE LOVER !

ft. jack krauser x fem!reader, jack krauser x leon s. kennedy

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, internalised homophobia, referenced domestic abuse, use of the f slur im so sorry, some kreon, smut, a little voyeurism, blood at the end

note. commission for @d10nyx !!!! feeding people what they want :3 nyxie wyxie i hope this is good n i hope u enjoy it!!!!’ LUV U MWAH.. ignore any mistakes… my editing sucks 😓 goes back n forth between krauser n reader pov pretty fast n the smut is a little boring 😓 pretend bootcamp is like not super top secret !!! also idk how american military works so ignore my attempt at that

As a young girl, you understand love to be an unconditional, non-negotiable and non-refundable thing. It’s human nature to love, it is your god given right to love and for your father to deny you of the only thing your heart knows to do—It’s downright cruel.

He’s a military man and that comes with perks. You get to visit his platoon and get an eyeful of bulging quads and strong jaws and sweaty abs— That is the only perk now that you think about it. Oh, and that cute blond dude who still has all his hair. Duh. Otherwise he wouldn’t be blond. He’s a total babe and when he smiles, blinking at you with feline eyes as he watches quietly from behind his bangs, you find yourself keeling over to support the weight of your aching heart.

(Pussyache, heartache, it’s all the same to you.)

Whenever you ask your dad what’s so special about him, why’s he got such shiny hair? What shampoo does he use? Is it a medical condition, does he have to keep the hair? Does his head get cold or something? He goes all stiff like you’ve asked too much of him, which you never have, you ask for nothing but love.

Ever since your mother left—Well, no it’s not even that. He didn’t change when she left. Dad is the same ol’ dad you’ve had for years. Jack is Jack and your mother isn’t going to change that, she didn’t change that, so she left and never looked back. She left you ‘cause you’re Jack’s girl and nothing is going to change that. You carry a part of your father wherever you go and that would be unwelcome in her house. She told you over the phone that she no longer needed all that medication - it was just your father.

Oh, he’s not so bad. Jack keeps you fed and clothed and what else are you meant to expect from a dad? No dads love is adequate to the way you love them. Never has and never will be.

Still, he’s changed and that you’re sure of.

His temper is short, you’re well aware. You live with the guy, of course you know all about it. He flips out when the toilet lid isn’t closed, and when you give him a gentle reminder that you don’t carry the same junk he does down there, Jack gives you the cold shoulder. It’s all about gentle parenting with your dad, but the sulking has escalated into full blown temper tantrums and you don’t know where you’ve gone wrong.

Dad’s never gotten physical. Until he does. And now you don’t remember a time where he was ever kind. You’re beaten into a pulp by the hand that feeds you and you’re not quite sure where it all went wrong, what you’ve done to be on the receiving end of such intense resentment.

All you’ve ever known is a man devoted to anger, but he’s not violent. Your dad is not violent. He’s the one who picked you up when you toppled over, he taught you how to ride a bike and he put you on his shoulders to see the world from his point of view— And that is it really. Nothing more, nothing less.

You don’t have daddy issues so to say, more so it’s your father that has issues in general, and those issues are untouched by any flame, they burn brighter than tiger eyes. It seems that they’ve started to fracture, and now the only thing that brings him relief is his fist on your supple skin, a cathartic end to a hard fucking day.

Let’s get one thing straight - Jack Krauser is not a faggot. Jack had a wife and he fucked that wife in the marriage bed once and they never fucked again. You were conceived on the first try.

A faggot couldn’t do that.

It starts with Leon S. Kennedy. He’s wet behind the ears and wet in his pink mouth and pink hole. He stares at Jack like he’s seen something nice, then he looks away a moment later, unable to hold his gaze.

Jack Krauser isn’t gay. It just gets lonely out here. It gets hard to keep his men in line and nothing scares them more than dick. Jack Krauser is not gay—And when Kennedy’s tight little hole cranks him in like a wine cork, it means nothing. This is how you get through to insolent brats, it’s the only way, no other method has worked as well as this.

If Jack Krauser was gay he would lounge in the bunk with Kennedy, he would tenderly wipe the sweat from his blond brows and kiss him stupid. But he does none of that. Kennedy is sent to shower, limping as he goes.

(Not before Jack gives him a nice hard smack on his backside and tells him to Pack it up, Boy Scout. Not before Leon presses his nose into the hollows of his neck, his boyish beam is that of a cat that got the cream, sweat gleaming to highlight the shape of his collarbones.)

So yeah. Jack is straight, and he can prove it. He would be able to prove it but the only bitch for miles left him. There’s you. But that’s fucked up. Jack wouldn’t go there.

Then you start to ask questions about Kennedy. And of course it’s him, with the petal lips and tawny lashes that remind Jack of toffee drizzled on coffee cake, of course he caught your attention— Of course he did.

(Like father, like daughter.)

You prod and he snaps, icy eyes a frigid landscape as his gaze pierces you with bone-chilling intensity. You shift from foot to foot, toying with loose threads at the hemline of your frayed nightdress.

“Sorry, dad.” You look down at your feet, wiggle your toes against the kitchen tiles and get sent into the edge of the counter when Jack lands a solid hit on your cheek.

Why, he oughta use some of that military training on you. Not the dick. Not ‘cause he’s gay, but because you’re his daughter. Obviously.

Definitely not ‘cause he’s gay.

Jack could fuck you if he really wanted. You have some, uh, assets. Yeah, you have tits, those are interesting. You have an ass, that’s nice. Got a pussy, an extra bonus. All of those are things that Jack loves. Really, he does, and he doesn’t need to prove it to anyone.

Jack takes your chin in his crushing grip, tilts your head to the left and then to the right, you tremble and make yourself small, clutching at the counter behind like you intend to saw yourself in half so your top half can make a quick escape.

“Dad…” Your little hand wraps around his wrist, fingers barely touching as you try to get him off, shaken up by his sudden burst of violence. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts, releasing you from his hold and watching your body crumple in on itself. You cup your cheek to check for damage, pressing the pads of your fingers into your jaw with a groan.

It throbs with each pulse of Jack’s heart.

You think your dad has a crush on the rookie. It might be a stretch, but he never looked at your mom that way. It transcends love and turns into hatred and heat ‘cause your dad is incapable of producing any positive feelings towards anyone ever. You would know that better than anyone, you know him better than anyone, better than he knows himself.

His tongue runs along his white canines as he watches Kennedy hold a plank and man, he’s got it bad for the rookie. You don’t blame him - look at that form, at that ass. Dad has good taste, he gets it! Now that the two of you have found some common ground, maybe he’ll stop backhanding you into next year.

Kennedy’s given mercy by your oh-so gracious father and his body caves in, hitting the mud with a soft thump—He gets up ass first and you suck in a breath at the same time your dad lets one out. His hips raise and his hands find grip in the ground before he plants his feet, lifting his body despite the discomfort that tinges his muscles. Kennedy hobbles away and you love watching him leave. Dad must think the same ‘cause he reaches down to adjust his cargos. Gross.

You catch them in the showers a week later.

You got bored waiting around for him, okay? The showers were your main priority—Not to see this, but to catch some hunks mid scrub down and turn the place into a porn set. Life has a funny way of taking all your wants and twisting them into half-wants. Seeing Leon naked? Great, amazing, no notes. Seeing your father naked? Dear fucking lord, you need a bullet put through your brain stat.

They're giving each other a muscle massage or whatever. Code for the most tender groping you have ever seen in your life. Dad cradles the back of Leon’s head sweetly. Jesus, you don’t think you’ve ever used that word to describe him. Their lips brush and Kennedy is the one that pulls back, Jack’s head moves forward to chase them, settling with ghosting kisses along the soft skin of Leon’s neck, dotted in cocoa dust moles and a protruding Adam’s apple that gets the same delicate treatment. Along with a quick lick that draws a moan from the base of Leon’s throat.

You think you might be intruding on something more personal than sex. Holy fuck, you didn’t know your dad could do personal, you didn’t know he had the ability to love so ardently. To love at all. What a dick. You don’t know whether to look away or not.

Like, Leon is—He’s cute. You like when his feathery lashes dust his cheeks each time he closes his eyes, you like how his body, soft with baby fat, gives away to the roughness of your father’s touch. The flesh of his hips divots when Jack grips them. Your father presses his back to the cool shower wall, the buttery flesh of Leon’s ass moulds to the shape of his fingers when he tugs him close to his broad chest— Cute, he has back dimples. Jack slots his thumbs in them, and then he makes the mistake of lifting his eyes from Leon’s angel face.

The running water is not enough to stop him from spotting you, head poked into the shower room as you gape. For your sake, you dip out the door to make your exit and head back to the car, not sure on whether you should be traumatised or enlightened by the possibly harrowing image that’s burned into your retinas like the worst form of LASIK.

The ride home is silent. Dad is silent most of the time, he talks but not to you. There’s one thing to talk about, but you doubt either of you want to touch on that.

Jack lets you in first. The door clicks shut behind him and you’re both alone. He’s always alone with you. He’s never missed his wife until this very moment. Not out of love for her, but out of pure convenience. She would break up the silence, she would remind him that he is in fact attracted to women and what you saw back there was nothing. Hell, he could give you another sibling if you asked—He could do that.

In one try, like a real man.

He could get it up, he can get it up, he only gets it up for women. Kennedy is the closest thing to a girl, alright? That’s all there is. Wait till you find out about what they do in prison. Every guy at camp has had a turn with Kennedy—That’s just how it works. It’s not about being gay, it’s not— It’s just tradition, isn’t it? Picking on pretty boys like that, it’s the only way to get rid of all that pent up testosterone or whatever it is that swelters within Jack.

When you turn on your heels to leave for your bedroom, Jack calls your name. You freeze so fast it’s almost comical. Like you’re playing musical chairs.

“Yes, dad?” Your gaze is stuck to your white socks, the print of the floorboards is mighty interesting.

His brow dips and his scowl morphs into a pained smile that brings you more fear than comfort, his hand is heavy on your shoulder and Jack thinks this expression suits you well.

“You think you're smart?” Barging in like that, making assumptions that only women would make—You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.

“No, sir.” The chill that runs down your spine straightens it.

“On your knees, girl.” The way you’re looking at him—He hates it. You think you got him all figured out, putting him together like a puzzle, but you’re missing one piece—He’s not gay.

“No,” you say while doing as he says.

(Kennedy does that, cries out No! as the plush of his ass meets Jack’s thighs, as he fucks himself like a faggot on a dick that belongs to a man who once had a wife, a man with a daughter.)

“Dad, no—Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t even see anything.” You hang your head, pleading with the ground as Jack fishes his soft cock from his cargos, refusing to meet the tip with your eyes.

Your apology is lost to the softness of his dick, hanging huge and limp against his thigh like a deflated balloon. Fuck—No, no, it’s not because Jack is gay, it’s the daughter thing. You’re his daughter, and to get hard at the sight of your daughter would only ever elicit a prison sentence.

“Daddy,” you try again, cradling what you have with him close to your chest, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—Please, daddy, I don’t—Dad.” You fail to plead your case, you fail to garner any interest from his cock. “If it’s about—I don’t like him, I don’t like Leon, dad, you can have him, he’s all yours I swear—Just don’t do this to me, daddy, please.”

Jack’s cock twitches at the mere mention of his name.

“What did I tell you ‘bout running that stupid mouth of yours, girl? Where are your fuckin’ manners?” He rubs the ruddy tip along the crease of your jutting lips, the bottom one trembles. “Thought I taught you well.”

“No… No, don’t do that, dad—God, no.” Your complaints are snuffed out by the fat dick that stuffs itself down your throat, half-hard and thick enough to be a choking hazard.

(It poses a threat to you, but not to Kennedy. Man can that kid suck cock, with a face like that he’s lucky he’s not begging for his life.)

You gag and Jack pinches your nose. If he had a son, he would’ve taught him to play ball. But he’s stuck with a daughter, and the most you can do is dig your nails into his thighs, mucusy spit hanging from your chin in stringy strands.

“You’re made for this,” Jack tells you, and he’s right. Biologically, those lips of yours have evolved to maximum pout to suck cock. They bear resemblance to Leon’s—The vein on the underside of his dick throbs. Jack’s jaw is offset as his teeth grind together, splintering into thin shards of bone. Not the fucking time to be thinking of the rookie and his floppy hair, softer than cotton beneath Jack’s fingers, the rookie who is shaven clean save the shadow that lines his lips, the rookie that sports hardened lines on his otherwise plush abdomen, pink skin leading to an even pinker dick—Holy shit, what’s wrong with him?

At this pace, Jack’s going to contact a fucking therapist—Have it out with his bitch wife. That’s exactly what it is. Sexual frustration he's not been able to take out on your mother.

His cock slips from your mouth, it rests heavy on your face, casts a shadow as you cower at the sheer size. “Dad…” You cough wetly, hacking up bile that you push back down with a pained gulp. “Daddy… Don’t do it to me, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to look, dad, I’m not—I’m not mad at you.”

He scoffs, lifting you by the Peter Pan collar of your floral blouse—You look like a fucking Mormon. That pisses him off. Jack’s not a Mormon or a faggot, there are so many accusations in the air and it all rises to crescendo. You’re bent over the dining table, the fullness of your skirt is hoisted up to ruche around your waist in makeshift pleats and your white cotton panties are dangling around your ankles.

The lips of your puffy cunt cushion his dick and Jack starts to feel a little queasy. Not because—Not ‘cause of the pussy. It’s not that. It’s the daughter thing. Seriously—There’s no time to waste, Jack forces himself into your pussy before his dick folds in on itself. As he pistons himself in and out of your only partially wet cunt, it feels like nothing. Jack is numb.

Feels nothing, hears nothing—Sees nothing but him. The anger inside of him rises like a devastating wave, ready to engulf every skyscraper in its path. You end up being on the receiving end as you have been for as long as you’ve been alive—His very own punching bag. What else are kids for, huh?

Your stubborn pussy pushes him out, you dig your nails into the glazed wood of the table, clawing like they might find purchase in the grooves. Dad, dad, daddy, dad—It doesn’t work on him, you do nothing for him. When you cry, he doesn’t feel sad, and when your cunt clamps down on him, it brings him no pleasure.

A hand comes to rest on your back, forcing you into a sharp arch as Jack’s hips smack into yours at a bruising pace. Somewhere along the line, a very thin line that Jack snorts, it blurs—Your salty tears become the tang of Leon’s sweat, your hips become buttercream smooth in his grip, and your pussy—Your hole milks Jack for all he’s worth. The shroud has lifted from his shoulders and Jack feels weightless.

You lift your head, blood leaking from your nose, it congeals in fat lumps on your skin. “Daddy…” You sniffle, having had your head held down, grinding your bloody nose to a pulp against the smooth of the dinner table.

“Clean yourself up, girl.” Jack rolls his shoulders back, fists tightly balled by his side as he has proved nothing. Nothing at all. He’ll have to try again. No father of yours is a faggot. Can’t do that to his little girl.

(Excuse after fucking excuse.)

#jack krauser x reader #jack krauser smut #krauser smut #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #jack krauser x you #krauser x reader #dead dove do not eat

[barblaz-arts]

Hey! Since you mentioned "Soul Eater" before, can I ask what you think about it? From the anime, from the manga (if you read it), the powers, the story in general, the ships, the chops, the humor, etc.

The anime was stunning! I love that it managed to translate the gothic but campy vibe the manga had. The soundtrack was insane too. I used to be so obsessed with Paper Moon and the second ED. Even the character OSTs like Kidd's theme and BlackStar's theme were really good, even if the lyrics didn't make a lot of sense.

The character designs and powers/fighting style for each character was soooo cool btw. The aesthetic for this whole show was just so good. Like. If Tim Burton and Doctor Seuss went and collaborated on an anime idk what I'm saying.

And the animation for the fight scenes were just mesmerizing. Bones(the animation studio) are just real damn good at what they do.

Seeing Maka fight with that giant scythe changed my life. At the time shounen rather than shoujo/slice of life anime were my thing. It was my first time seeing a female main protag for a shounen anime, that was probably one of the reasons I was as obsessed with the show as I was. I saw myself in maka for many reasons, i loved her a lot.

I had my gripes with the anime. Like. The ending was a lil weird with how they defeated Asura, but I did love that it had Maka also be a weapon. Also the fact that Crona was alive and well by the end is a nice bonus.

I vividly remember being obsessed with this scene in particular. I had such a huge crush on them lmao

Also not to like out my cringey 12 yo self, but I used to ship Crona/Kidd. Looking back it's so funny.

Soul/Maka is still one of my favorites anime ships ever tho. Ships that start off being besties that gradually turn romantic are just always gonna be my favorite i guess

Also just... Soul's dedication to always keep Maka safe was so dang sweet??? He'd catch a sword on the chest for her. He'd break her fall for her. He'd really do anything for her. Like damn...

As for the manga, yes I did read it! I think it ended when I was in high school? I followed the manga as it updated along with other mangas like Pandora Hearts and Reborn etc. Soul Eater was the only shounen I finished reading (Unless PH counts as shounen. I don't think it does...).

The direction it went with was so painful. Crona leaving Maka and going back to Medusa was my NaruSaku fallout istg. It sucks that things didn't end happily for Crona in the manga, but I still enjoyed the journey it put me through. As dark as it was, the chapter where Crona finally kills Medusa was kinda cathartic.

And although the manga didn't have weapon!Maka, i like the upgrade when she honed the abilities of her grigori soul. Maka riding scythe!Soul like Cardcaptor Sakura with her magic staff was so cool. And the way she had Soul's blade turn into piano keys and turned the black blood into a dress was kinda badass. I wish we get to see these in reboot FMA brotherhood style someday

The humor was great. My brothers and I still quote/reference a lot of the funny stuff from it. I just wish it wasn't one of those animes that can get so pervy to the point it's uncomfortable....

Anyways, loved it a lot. Sorry I probably could have talked about Kidd and BlackStar too and I love them, but this reply would be a lot longer than i have the energy to do lol. They're popular anyways. This show had one of the best female anime characters in Maka and it will probably always have a special place in my heart.

And the chops? Great as always

#asks

[valaruakars]

Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2  → Part 3 → Part 4  → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6  → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference. 

Except maybe in your quadriceps. 

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough. 

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to. 

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something. 

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them. 

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house. 

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention. 

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that. 

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one. 

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive. 

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left? 

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :) 

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me? 

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it. 

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets. 

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs. 

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal. 

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones. 

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home. 

Not until he’s standing above you.  

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention. 

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan. 

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat. 

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him. 

You just can’t. 

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him. 

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot. 

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize. 

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down. 

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not! 

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor. 

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter. 

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you. 

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser. 

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.” 

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.  

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.” 

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin. 

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught. 

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity. 

It doesn’t, of course. 

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.  

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench. 

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same. 

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him. 

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you. 

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought. 

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually. 

Of stretches.  

The familiarity sparks excitement. 

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses. 

“These are from the physical therapist?” 

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie. 

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?” 

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?” 

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never. 

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit. 

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry. 

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready. 

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree. 

So you don’t.  

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting. 

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky. 

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl. 

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?” 

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise. 

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.  

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is. 

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”  

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth. 

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation. 

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually. 

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it? 

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight. 

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.  

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you. 

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone. 

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?” 

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really. 

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?” 

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.” 

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to. 

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door. 

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot. 

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy. 

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become. 

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.” 

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?” 

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will? 

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.  

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over. 

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it. 

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?” 

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded. 

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live? 

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer. 

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time. 

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again. 

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew. 

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all. 

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence. 

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?” 

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be. 

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot. 

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship. 

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense. 

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck. 

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?” 

“Nothing,” you squirm. 

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?” 

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...” 

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus. 

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.  

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.” 

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.” 

“He is.” 

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right. 

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.” 

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask. 

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.” 

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.” 

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.” 

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.” 

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night. 

Is it any wonder that another slips? 

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.” 

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone. 

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.  

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.” 

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.” 

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.” 

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy. 

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit. 

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.” 

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind. 

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.” 

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?” 

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped. 

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly. 

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too. 

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like. 

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No. 

“Is your mother alright?” 

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?” 

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask. 

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger. 

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him. 

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it.  “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have. 

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days. 

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel. 

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce. 

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?” 

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit. 

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried. 

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee. 

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers. 

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

#arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader insert #arcane x reader #my writing #literally beating tumblr with a stick i've been formatting this for fOURTY FUCKING MINUTES #GOD. #negl crying like a little bitch from the relief of finally posting this #pour one out for heraldeez who has to listen to me #just like jayce fr fr

[blueskittlesart]

i think you should be allowed to complain about whatever you want forever (and as someone who has been absolutely dying a thousand deaths over the currently planned live action how to train your dragon movie i completely understand this flavor of anguish)

sure sometimes positivity can be good, but sometimes u gotta start eating the walls and yelling to the sky about your misery (it’s cathartic <3). i am so very sorry you are joining the “bad live action movie made purely for money that has no shot of capturing what i love about this media” club, and i hope that at some point in the future it will be able to hurt at least a little less

it's like. idk. like i know that im at best a niche internet microcelebrity but it does kind of feel like im at the point where im being held to a weirdly high standard for. posts on a dying blogging website. like as far as i'm concerned i've never marketed this as an overtly positive space. i complain constantly. i've built this blog around media analysis and critical reads of the things i enjoy, whether those reads are positive or negative. but it's gotten to the point where any time i post an even minimally divisive opinion i get someone who is angry that i even dared to have an opinion at all. i've been very open on this blog about what these games mean to me and how much of my life is tied up in them. I became an artist in part because of my love for them. they have driven the success of my career over the past 5 years. I don't think it's unreasonable for me to be disappointed when something like this happens even if it's "just a game" or "just a movie" especially when my entire brand of content is posting about the game in question. i feel sort of insane. like, you all understand that i'm a person, right? that when i post things they come from my real human brain with real human thoughts and emotions? That i'm not curating my thoughts and opinions for you to consume? I'm just posting. i have a big audience but i am still just posting. and no one understands more than me how insane it is that i'm saying all this in response to posts on my legend of zelda fan blog. but like. i need you all to understand that you can't just tell people to not feel something that they are feeling and expect them to react positively to that, no matter what the context is.

anyways none of this is directed at you the asker im just using you as a vessel lmao but thank you for your support. i am nothing if not a hater and i will continue to be a hater until the end of time god bless 🙏🙏🙏

#all of this to say that the usual rules still apply. if you can't handle my content then leave and don't bother me about it #asks

[pleucas]

I just reblogged all your art (sorry if that was weird) but your drawings are AMAZING the composition the expressions and the way you draw backgrounds is amazing!!! you are crazy talented, I wanted to ask, have you read any soukoku fics that you would rec? if not that’s okay, I’m just curious about that.

ALSO. wanted to ask if I could use your art for a soukoku playlist I have on spotify (of course giving you credit in the description), if not it’s okay too:)

hehe hi!

i think i saw the spam happen in real time lmfao. it was truly an honor, made my day lolol <3 i'm glad you like my art, and thank you for taking your time to send in an ask.

you can totally use my art for spotify playlists! it's insane to me that someone would want to, so thank you so much <3 <3 totally send it over if you're open to sharing >;D

as for fic recs, i do indeed have a few...

idk if my taste in fics is similar to yours, but i generally like more introspective works with really good writing. the bsd fandom has a surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, given that the animanga is inspired by literary masters) incredible selection of works, unmatched by any other fanbase i've investigated.

my go-to rec is Three-fold Fate by devilrin (multi-chap, 60k, complete). the writing in this one KILLED ME. you know it's gotta be good when the author literally cites Ocean Vuong as inspiration lmfao. it explores the intricacies of canon-verse and dabbles into other aspects of bsd that aren't even explored (yet) in canon. brilliant writing and good skk shit, also with an interesting premise that really hit hard — i always go back to read parts of it when i want to spiral in my thoughts

the art of growing attached by hydref (one-shot, 6k, complete) is also really nice. soft & intimate, also in character in a very funny way

the choir's gonna sing by intimatopia (one-shot, 8k, complete) was really interesting, and i think abt it a lot. it explores dazai's ability in a super cool way that i haven't thought abt before, and now it's one of my fav interpretations. it also adds a depth to the skk relationship that i kinda adore. the writing is also brilliant, and the other works in the series hold a similarly high standard

StarshipDancer's skk series is also a goldmine of skk fics lol. the writing is solid and often very entertaining, i also love how they're both characterized

all the holes we had to breathe by airiena (one-shot, 18k, complete) is gorjus. it explores the dev of their relationship, and has some wonderfully handled motifs that made me writhe lol. very cathartic.

Always/Never by KhaoticEnby (multi-chap, 27k, complete) is one of my favs to return to. it's the peak of reconciliatory intimacy, and i enjoy how it gently explores skk's relationship. also very very cathartic and healing hehe

those are just 6 that immediately come to mind from my mountain of bookmarks aha. hope you enjoy at least some of em ;0 someday i do want to write for skk as well, they're just so captivating and wonderful... <3

thank you again for sending in an ask. wishing you a wonderful day!!

#casasks #pleucas

[tequiilasunriise]

Wenclair is great as goth x pastels, sunshine x storm cloud, black cat x golden retriever, sun and moon life and death yin and yang etc etc etc-

BUT!

Have y’all considered how perfectly their vibes encapsulate:

✨ao3 gf x wattpad gf✨

Headcanons below! This got super long sorry not sorry!

Enid is SO a trashy unapologetic wattpad writer who uses text to speech to throw together her surprisingly popular fanfics

Wednesday is a sophisticated ao3 user who secretly enjoys getting constructive criticism of her novels and other short stories that she posts there

Enid is the typa author to reply to EVERY comment with heartfelt messages and plenty of emojis

Wednesday is the typa author to never reply to comments but deep down enjoys the kudos and compliments

Enid is a oneshot funshot queen, meanwhile Wednesday has several multi-chapter works going on at the same time

Enid has a super spontaneous updating schedule where she’ll post when she posts

Wednesday updates her works every Wednesday (on the nose I know) and follows a STRICT schedule, she has never missed an update day not fer anything ever

Enid prolly has a cutesy username like ‘kittygotclaws’ or smth idk I dont go on wattpad

Wednesday goes by ‘DaysEnd’ on ao3 and REALLY it's quite on the nose

Everyone knows of Enid's wattpad acc bc she openly talks about it even on her blog, everytime a fic hits some sorta milestone she flexes it to the whole friend group like some sorta proud soccer mom

Wednesday is SUPER SECRETIVE about her ao3 acc, Thing is the only soul who knows of it bc he helps beta read

DaysEnd being a rising ao3 fan favorite amongst the Nevermore student body omg so true so slay of you Miss Addams (she tells Thing she does not care for such popularity but deep down revels in people actually appreciating her work, unlike some publishers out there)

They really like her strong imagery, plot twists, and her stories are pretty gore-heavy but the narration is quite compelling (seriously, she goes so in depth on random macabre shit like different types of murders, ways to cover up said murders, poisons and upkeep on daggers and all this dark shit etc etc that a popular comment she’ll get is ‘hey not to be rude but whats your search history like because how do you KNOW all this??’)

Meanwhile Enid mainly writes fanfics of her fav kpop bands and other OTPs that are often AUs or canon divergent heavy, sometimes she’ll pop off with the most hilarious fanfic that is pure CRACK

That being said, Enid’s works have some pretty damn good dialogue I just know it in my bones that she’s a character driven type of writer

Her emotional introspection is also? Surprisingly good?? Like damn when the feels hit they HIT, Enid is definitely the type to write the fluffest fluff, the angstiest angst, and the most cathartic hurt/comfort you’ll ever read if you make the conscious decision to look past her occasional grammatical errors and other typos

Wednesday’s original works, on the other hand, definitely aren't as much of a heartthrob, they’re probably more plot driven with less space for overly descriptive emotional scenes (both writing styles are valid as hell, mind you)

One day Enid discovers Wednesday’s secret ao3 and lives to tell the tale because deep down Miss Addams is a GAY GAY HOMOSEXUAL GAY

In exchange for keeping hush hush, Wednesday has to become Enid’s full-time beta reader for every. Single. Fic.

Wednesday HATES such drivel but agrees to such terms in order to keep her secret safe, much to Thing’s teasing delight over how soft she is for her fellow writer (“For producing such literary muck, she does not even deserve the privilege to tarnish such a title.” “I know what you are, Wednesday.” “What kind of threat is that?”)

I mean that being said, Wednesday gets low key invested in the sapphic otp fanfics Enid seems to have a penchant for writing when the fic isn’t kpop centered, her interest stems from uh nooooo reassooonnn noshutupThingthisdoesntmeananything-

When Enid brings up branching out to writing about OCs like Wednesday does-

Wednesday hates fandom terms like ‘OCs’ btw

-Wednesday encourages Enid to branch out in a very… Wednesdayish way

Like, she’s supportive but you gotta unpeel at least three layers of deflection and deadpanning to get to the real meaning

So yeah!! Enid branches out and starts writing silly little oneshots about various OCs, and if Wednesday notes that all of the stories revolve around gay characters, and if Thing notices how invested Wednesday gets in these silly little sapphics to point where he keeps commenting on it….

Andddd that’s the story of how Enid came back to the dorm with Thing being locked up in the drawer while Wednesday is burying her face in her pillow in what looks like a half-hearted attempt of suffocating herself

Anyways Wednesday’s repressed ass starts to ‘vent’ in her fanfics, if people start noticing DaysEnd incorporating more romance into their works no they don't stfu

It gets to the point where she ‘confesses’ to Enid by having Viper confesses to this new bubbly character that was recently introduced (“These feelings you have plagued me with, you make me sick,” said Viper, “And for my sake, I hope there is no cure.”)

Enid, with a lot I mean a metric fuckton of persuasion from Thing, eventually picks up on this and confesses back

Cue Wednesday beta reading Enid’s latest wattpad work and noticing how it’s about two polar opposite roomates who somehow make it work, and when the cheery one says to the gloomy one, “I also hope there’s no cure for the way I feel about you” it suddenly all clicks for Wednesday

Anyways fanfic gfs who slay together stay together <333

#super fucken long post sorry not sorry #if i wasnt super mega burnout i mightve committed to making this a fully fleshed out fanfic #all well!! maybe sometime in the future we shall see no promises tho #ur honor theyre writer gfs on completely different ends of the spectrum but so supportive of the other's creative endeavors regardless #love that fer them no one else doing it like wenclair #i am personally an ao3 writer who is more enid-adjacent when it comes to my writing #i love love LOVE emotional scenes and character driven works #MAD respect to the multi-chapter overlords tho yall the backbone of our society fr fr #wenclair warriors rise up #wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair

[monstersinthecosmos]

List 7 comfort films and tag 7 people!

Tagged by @ihaventcomeupwthanameforaheroyet ! thanks!! I WROTE DOWN A FEW FAVS OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD (IN NO ORDER) AND HAD 9, SO, I THINK IWTV 1994 GOES WITHOUT SAYING LMFAO, ALSO HONORABLE MENTION TO AMERICAN PSYCHO BC IT MAKES ME LAUGH MY ASS OFF EVERY TIME BUT I ULTIMATELY CUT IT FROM THIS PRESITIGOUS LIST.

is it obnoxious if i put some pictures in the post too? Sorry I get really excited to talk about movies hkjdslgasd please don't feel obligated to put pictures in yours, I'm just being extra.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day [1991]

LISTEN I CRY EVERY FUCKING TIME it's just the best, ROBOT DADDY??? HOT MOMMY???? The T-1000 is so scary?? ALL THESE RIDICULOUS EPIC FIGHT SCENES AND THE ACTORS ARE JUST NOT EMOTING AT ALL BECAUSE THEY'RE ROBOTS? The director's cut with the extra scene where John is trying to teach the Terminator to smile and you realize when he does his little side smirk it's because he's copying John's smile, bc when he copied randos it didnt fit on his face?!??! Eddie Furlong's voice cracking which feels like such a happy accident because he's a weak little fragile human in contrast to the killing machine?? PLEASE.

Hellraiser [1987]

IT'S WEIRD, IT'S KINKY, IT'S GAY, IT'S CHEESY, IT'S GOT PRACTICAL EFFECTS THAT ARE KINDA COOL BUT KINDA STUPID, IT'S GOT THE GRAINY 80S COZY FEEL, IT'S GOT INCREDIBLE FEMALE SEXUALITY AND BAD ACTING, I JUST LOVE IT. It's just a movie I put on when I need to relax and wow it just makes me really happy ;.;

Pet Sematary [1989]

okay this one and the next one and the last one are all GRAINY 80S COZY FEEL, you have to understand that I grew up watching 80s horror from like the age of 5 so that flim look, the grain, the flat lighting, it just !!!!!!! gives me so much cozy fuzzy warmth for childhood and I just adore it. Anyway !!!!!!1 I LOVE THIS MOVIE SO MUCH it's so extremely dark and also extremely absurd, somehow it's so magnetic that you are immediately immersed even though it's got the aesthetic of a bad TV movie, it's just wonderful I adore it. ALSO a rare super faithful Stephen King adaptation!

An American Werewolf in London [1981]

PRACTICAL EFFECTS MY BELOVED!!!!!!!!11 blah blah cozy 80s, but also! FUNNY! ROMANTIC! TRAGIC! SCARY WHEN IT NEEDS TO BE! I'm so deeply deeply impressed by the practical effects in this film, too! But wow it's so good every time, the hot nurse in this movie is a crazy monsterfucker I adore her, it's a good Armand/Daniel AU, the end is a gut punch every fucking time, it's the best, a naked American man stole my balloons, etc. Absolutely perfect film.

Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain [2001]

VISUALLY STUNNING FILM ABOUT AN ASEXUAL WOMAN WITH SOCIAL ANXIETY, PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. I think this movie like, changed my life maybe? I think I saw it when I was 15 or so and it just had such a huge impact on me. I used to watch it so much I would just turn the subtitles off because I'd get distracted and didnt even need them anymore. It's a movie I used to bring with me when I traveled, like I brought the DVD with me when I studied abroad because I was so scared I'd have anxiety or get homesick, I just always wanted to be able to watch it if I need to. IF I WATCH THIS AT THE WRONG TIME OF THE MONTH I CRY MY EYES OUT which is cathartic in the end, idk if it's comfy or comforting but wow. but wow really amazing film it's so beautiful and had such a huge impact on my worldview and my creativity and the way I write and the way I do photography and just !!! ;.; I'm gonna cry!

The Departed [2006]

I really like it when Leo DiCaprio cries and he's not a super crybaby in his one but he does scream in pain and have the shit beat out of him and has panic attacks and needs anxiety meds! The cast is sick! The music is amazing! It's such cool storytelling!!! It's exciting every time! The ending fucks! GOD. Just wonderful, I love it so much. The Blu-ray starts over every time it ends so every time I watch it I tend to walk away and let it loop all day LOL. It's disgusting how many times I've watched it. ALSO MY BABE VERA FARMIGA WHAT A MILF god i love her.

Forgetting Sarah Marshall [2008]

this is like such a perfect comedy for my sense of humor, INCLUDING A BONUS DRACULA SUBPLOT CAN YOU BELIEVE IT, but is actually such a clever and lovely story about getting over heartbreak wow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love this movie so fucking much oh my god. Also ever since I worked on ships I feel like especially potent to it because there's something about the social community within the resort that feels so much like the community of a cruise ship crew!! ;.;

Tagging (but no pressure!): @rugbertgoeshome @hekateinhell @mothmage @apoptoses @cup-of-lixx @somevagrantchild @covenofthearticulate

[coffeebrownn]

Oh I love your head canons, they are so sweet. For NSFW, I like the idea of both Chris and Ethan being switches. Ethan is a bit of a power bottom and Chris is a service top. Chris is tired and just does whatever Ethan requests haha. And Ethan wants to try everything. They are so cute.

DON'T WORRY THIS ISN'T REALLY NSFW IT'S JUST RELATIONSHIP BREAKDOWN(???)

WAADA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! AND OMG HELLO??? alright,, have mercy but i never really thought about them in a NSFW setting(?) idk i just forgot about it(????) or they're not really my ocs and i feel like i'm trespassing an invisible border😭😭😭 but i'll think more scenario since you mentioned about it, especially on how ethan is a power bottom,, and i learn that that's the term for chris(?) since i agree that he can be the top position but at the same time it's not right that he's the only one who does so,, so it's really cute that he's giving pleasant service to ethan as well 🥺

yes, they're very very vanilla, nothing crazy i think chris would get pretty embarrassed when he need to share that it wasn't like this when he's younger. Either way, i think what stands out is how ethan is pretty fidgety(?) like he'll bite, and hold chris' chest... chris on the other hand .. i think he just likes to see how big he is compared to ethan..😭idk he likes to picture it even outside sexual intercourse

Well, this session for them,, i would say pretty cathartic for both of them, both at one of vulnerable state/image, chris never really expressing his wants/needs since he thought/ picture himself that he's a soldier in this bio warfare, this and the fact that he'd done numerous (he'd lost count) one night stand due to how stressful his job could be, any women/men, like anything, ANYTHING to distract himself, since alcohol/cigarette isn;t enough for him already. So you could see how doubtful of himself when he's considering on starting this serious relationship with ethan, his mind run across whether or not he could do it, he express this thought to claire, which of course she told chris to just do it, if it doesn't work out, then leave

"it's that easy, who's giving you orders to stay with him if it doesn't work out? yourself?" claire just laughs

chris knows what claire meant, and at start he already knows the answer, he just doesn't fully trust himself after what had happened, his judgement, his bad decisions, etc. he thought to himself does he deserve someone as good as ethan? after he'd cross the line and killed his wife (even though it's miranda) and not telling him whatsoever about the plan and directly killing him due to your shit ass common sense? of course chris tries to punish himself this isn't his first time, but again how long can he do this. So he took the plunge and really threw away his enormous ego to apologize to ethan since it's a miracle that God or Universe itself gave him a 2nd chance, most of the time the person is already dead

and this contrast with ethan, he doesn't trust people due to his circumstances (re7/re8)), he's insecure about his body, his mind, he feels like a monster due to the mold, after people he trust just kept using his kindness and destroying it.. he just feels unloved/unappreciated.

first few nights when they express this interest of wanting to explore each other's bodies, (of course ethan jokingly mentioned how "you've seen me naked before! like multiple times" and chris just close eyes and mentioned how seeing him naked on the hospital bed DOES NOT COUNT) ethan was pretty nervous, he instead went and uses his clothes/shirt from fully exposing his own body. Took them like a few month to a year to feel comfortable.. even some nights they just strip down to sleep naked.

and the aftercare/cuddling session ethan would ask chris each of the scars and it's history behind it, a good bed time story for ethan, some stupid ones because Jill/Claire dared him, some from his mistakes, some that he regrets, everything, this is one of instance for ethan to know who chris is, since ethan mostly relies on chris' closed ones (jill, claire, even leon) to share, but again it's mostly THEIR experiences with chris and not the other way around.

well at least this is how i picture them!! Idk!! i find their relationship to not be the healthiest compared to other ship in RE, but i appreciate and want to highlight about how it can be a very rewarding/wholesome between them, like it's a good reminder that people (NOT ALL PEOPLE SOME PEOPLE) grow and overcome their own irrationality and worries, each of them has their own flaws and insecurity but they both pick each other up and be a better version/proud of themselves. Thank you for reading this! Sorry for the extensive rambling 😭

#winterfield #chris redfield #ethan winters #text #ramble #long post #i really like their relationship.. like goddamn #i hope that they realized that they need a good good long break from everything that they've thrown over #anon #ask #thanks for the question anon!

[just-a-carrot]

What is Our Wonderland? a.k.a. the dumpster fire that is my ace-themed queer horror game or something

Our Wonderland is a visual novel / horror game / horrific dating sim??? / mangled mess of Fucked Up chars reaching their 30s but not? understanding who they are?? and twisted grisly things happen???

It stars five childhood friends with a sEcReT—they opened a Magical Wish-Granting Wonderland in their youth (as one does). Twenty years later, however, they've all turned into barely functioning adults just trying to Get By™, each with their own Traumas exacerbated by their struggles to fit in to a cis- hetero- allonormative world (as well as Pining,,, lots and lots of unrequited Pining). Cue a Return to Wonderland. What could happen now that they're all Verifiable Messes with the power to wish for anything they want??? omg,,, maybe they'll eat each other or something wouldn't that be wild omg,,,

The Woobies

Iggy: Resident Ace Bean that has no idea what he wants and spends most of his time Confused and Overwhelmed and avoiding social situations like the plague; just wants to fit in and for everyone to be Happy™

Genzou: The loud-mouthed snarky Best Friend who loves his favorite pal so much dear god do not touch a hair on his god damn head or he will fucking murder you (definitely Not Gay why would you even think that shm,,,)

Orlam: Nobody likes him he's just kinda there accumulating more and more Debilitating Trauma dear fucking lord is this guy sad and lonely somebody please l-l-love him; forlorn bisexual who longs to be the Life of the Party (may or may not be a cannibal, who can say really,,,)

Gidget: Just your average girl who wants to be Perfect™; did not ever wear boys' clothes or have issues with her body and definitely was never made fun of when trying to use the restroom; likes Iggy perhaps a little bit Too Much

Bucks: Homecoming queen and softball star; has everything she ever wanted in life—a loving husband, a beautiful baby, and a lovely house with a white picket fence; skilled with an Axe

What You Can Expect From This Atrocity:

Around 288k words of Pure Unadulterated Pain (20 to 25 hours or something idk)

A ridiculous 520 CGs because I apparently Can't Stop Drawing

Some pretty sweet cinematic ending sequences I guess

A cool soundtrack??? I did not create it but I've been told it's Good so we'll just go with that

Gore mixed with feels mixed with moments that will make you want to RIP YOUR HEART OUT

A Strange and Deplorable art style that apparently grows on you or so I've been told

Gay people kissing or something

COMPLICATED LOVE SQUARES???

Horrible ace nightmares—BUT ALSO CATHARTIC ACE JOY???

Cannibalism

P.S. in case it wasn't obvious this game is rather Dark and contains many a horrible thing such as Murder, Torture, and the Eating of People (some of the arcs also tread somewhat heavily into Sexual Themes Territory, too, given all the overarching ace stuff), so please please please check the content warnings on the itch page before playing! It's def for mature audiences only.

Where You Can Download This Horrific Abomination From Hell:

Our Wonderland on itch.io (it's free omg!!111!!!!!1)

There's also some free side games ig:

Our Cinderella on itch.io

Our <<Fantastic>> Wonderland on itch.io

Texting the Awkward Ace Guy You've Had a Crush on Since High School on itch.io

Save the Last Dance on itch.io

if you have any questions i guess i can answer them that's how it works maybe.

ok I think that's it bye.

#visual novel #lgbt #asexual #gay #our wonderland #ace #mlm #horror vn #bisexual #biromantic #queer horror #indie game #gamedev #lgbtqia #nonbinary #interactive fiction

[gorgugplushie]

BAD KIDS GAMING HCS

Nobody asked but i cant stop thinking abt it so

Fabian - canonically doesn't know what mobile games are, much less actual videogames. He sort of sees them as pointless (why do quests and adventures in a videogame when he could just do them in real life?) Of course the bad kids pull him into their gaming sessions, though he spends most of them asking what the controls are again and raising an eyebrow at their shenanigans. Ragh sits him down and makes him play some sport based video games which he does enjoy, he can get really into it if you give him time (he yells so so loud) he also gets into ddr style games bc he likes beating the other bdkds at them. Videogames are a good excuse to hang but he'd rather go out and play football irl.

Kristen - coming from a heavily sheltered and what i assume monitored family, kristen probablyyy isnt all that into videogames. At most i think she'd have some mobile games like idk candy crush on her phone, like fabian she'd get confused and spend her in game time running around and just watching the others play, she goes along w the others shenanigans v easily tho and loves doing silly bits while playing.

Riz - Riz is the type to play window games on their families shared computer for hours on end. Stuff like sudoku, pinballs, or solitaire. He'd love those games like the nancy drew mystery ones, or those games where you find items like I Spy. The only downside is he gets unhealthily fixated and will spend 3 days getting to lvl 100+ on Tetris if you let him, obsessed w 100% games and making funny number go up. Surprisingly good at rhythm games.

Adaine - into open world games, like fallout or outerwilds. Will spend days writing and churning out backstory and lore for her in game character. Veryyy picky and wants every decision to be true to their newest ocs backstory, will spend a solid hour on the character creation screen. She also loves more violent shooting games, although playing online with strangers gives her anxiety and she cannn get gamer rage, she'll get fixated on getting stuff like headshots and Winning and Being a good teammate that she'll start shaking and have to step away from playing for a bit. Single player fighting games w blood where she can turn her brain off and just fight are more cathartic for her. I feel like she ends up doing insane shit in them like saw and hack off limbs and go full dark story mode route and then regret it so so much and lie awake at night not sleeping bc of it and delete the save file. Its her dark secret shell take to the grave.

Fig - plays a large range of games, mainly more colorful and silly goofy ones she can play with the badkids. Shes sort of a little nuisance in games tho, she will troll and grief a lil bc she finds it funny. In singleplayer games she does love being a huge stinker and do silly stuff like pickpocket and get caught or accidentally set a bomb off in the middle of a cutscene or glitch her character to a-pose, she does a bunch of shit and laughs and doesn't take it seriously at all. Like adaine she also gets gamer rage. she gets them both banded from online for a month bc they team up to cast a spell on someone thru the screen. LOVESS shit like guitar hero and skater games sooo much, also into those wwe type games. Cant stomach horror at all but will make the rest of the kids sit down and play horror games w her so they can laugh and scream together.

Gorgug - he tends to like more older games, say in the style of star fox/loz and stuff. His parents gave him and older gaming system when he was younger n he still has it around and collects games for it, its seeing a lot more use than it originally did bc now he has friends to play with. The type of guy to still carry their ds around. I feel like hed also modify and rom hack stuff for his friends. He likes going to the arcade in person and playing there than sitting in front of a computer.

Ayda - yes im including her shes a gamer girl in my heart. I feel like she loves life sims/complex puzzle games, stuff like slime rancher, portal, animal crossing. She has 1000+ hours into a single sims save file. She spends hours and hours building and working on the most elaborate farming system for whatever new sim shes getting invested in. She especially loves organizing in games, she gets a bit antsy playing more survival based games with the bad kids because they leave their systems so unorganized (shes def the type to redo the entire base from top to bottom in dont starve while the rest die off screen). neat and orderly decoration is soo fun for her and the bad kids try not to step on her turf too much. refuses to play multiplayer if it's with anyone else but the badkids, but if anyone would start a gaming channel its her. will do obscenely gay cutesy stuff w fig n game. They build their own little base and junk and pretend to hosts weddings n stuff. Shes also very into speed running and breaking games with glitches to figure out how they work.

#fh #fantasy high #gorgug txt.

[hella1975]

hey hella here's my ethel cain commentary, songs in no particular order it's just my faves I had thoughts on. also my favorite song is strangers and my favorite album was preacher's daughter

a house in nebraska: love this one, the yearning is insane, don't know why bbgirl picked nebraska though. you could pick a state anywhere in the midwest and you pick nebraska? like I get it's for the Vibes but was there no other state that properly captured the Vibes? also it could just be the brainrot talking but this song is sooo [REDACTED] (the "house in nebraska" being the [REDACTED] ofc)

sun bleached flies: "god loves you, but not enough to save you." god loves you, but not enough to save you. god loves you, but not enough to save you. god loves you, but NOT ENOUGH TO SAVE YOU. GOD LOVES YOU, BUT NOT ENOUGH TO- anyway. ethel cain unrelease this. ethel cain put this thing back where it came from or so help me

western nights: I just really like this one. it's a really pretty song. until you look up the lyrics. naturally.

american teenager: "I don't need anything from anyone, It's just NOT MY YEAR, BUT I'M ALL GOOD OUT HERE! SAY WHAT YOU WANT, BUT SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE!!!" love this song love this song love this song

hard times: this one is so heartbreaking, I hear this and my mood takes an instant cliff dive. it's almost as bad for my mental state as your saddest great achievement by lucy eaton. I don't even have daddy issues. also the thing you said about this apparently being about sa makes this so much worse when I listen to it and instinctively go "oh this is so [blorbo with daddy issues]" and then I remember it's about sa and I feel uncomfortable and I'm like "oh it's not THAT serious for the blorbo though ://" it sounds very general though so it'll probably still make it onto blorbo playlists

inbred: you were so right about this song using lyricism most artists would shy away from, "pissing on the stove to put it out" "sucking on the back of his leg to stay warm" "touch me till i vomit" this is such a Gross song (affectionate) I love this one so much

head in a wall: something about the guitar chords in this one appeals to me so much. it feels familiar? classic? idk but I like it

golden age: all I have to say is miss cain maybe should take this one back too methinks

crush: "LOW SLUNG BAD BITCH BABY COME AND GET YOU SOME" this slaps. no notes.

strangers: "I tried to be good, am I no good? am I no good? am I no good? with my memory restricted to a polaroid in evidence, I just wanted to be yours, can I be yours? can I be yours? just tell me I'm yours, if I'm turning in your stomach and I'm making you feel sick" :(((( I am obsessed with this one it's so everything to me, it makes me insane. especially the cannibalism part bc I love weird shit in songs (also I think I have a slight fascination with cannibalism and I think it's bc I read a book about the donner party at 12) also there's something about how the lyrics at the end are listed as "mama just know that I love you (I do)" but no matter what I try to hear it sounds like she's saying "mama just know that I love you (and I lied to you)" but anyway the way she's being devoured by her lover? the mommy issues? the winn dixie name drop? she went off with this one

ptolmaea: I love this song it's so distressing. I need more Evil Music that is an Actively Harmful Listening Experience. very cathartic. however, I listen to music when just like. doing dishes and shit. I can't have my hands in dirty dishwater and be hearing "make it stop make it stop make it stop stop stop stop stop stop STOP AAAAAAHHHHH" however, it probably would be good to listen to when I'm sitting in my hammock in the woods, if I wanted to feel like I was in a found footage horror movie

family tree (intro): "jesus can always reject his father, but he can not escape his mother's blood" "swinging by my neck from the family tree" I'm so. I'm sooo. I'm eating drywall. I'm gonna stick my hand in a wood chipper. I'm gonna shove my head in the dirt. what the fuck. I love when people interpret jesus as a complicated figure. I don't fuck with christianity but from a narrative and artistic standpoint there is. so much. also you bringing [REDACTED] into this makes me feel so mentally ill

also I wrote all of this before looking up the lyrics on genius and shit got twice as interesting for the preacher's daughter album when I looked it up. what the fuck. I love narratives

real ones know that this ask and the journey it went on entitles rori to every horrible mean thing she says to me. i deserve it

#YOURE SO REAL FOR THE GOLDEN AGE AND CRUSH RECOGNITION DO YOU STILL LOVE ME BESTIE IM SORRY #also tams was initially gonna be titled after a family tree lyric. insanity #every [REDACTED] here is beyond valid for reasons we have EXHAUSTED thanks to aiaia's bullying #ask #ethel cain