#I'd probably die without them

[sysig]

Justify away (Patreon)

[ssaalexblake]

lotsd anniversary was yesterday but shout out to thirteen who abandoned Dan in the past (while he was captured and hung upside down by a pirate) so she could have a private conversation with Yaz without him interrupting bc that's god tier commitment to unintentional homoeroticism there doc

(they got interrupted by a giant sea monster instead so she may as well have just kept Dan around lol)

[aku-zone]

One thing that scared me of moving out (besides the insane rent prices and epidemic of shitty landlosers) was always (for some reason) having to buy groceries on my own. I literally don't know why i go grocery shopping on my own all the time already. And besides most grocery stores have delivery options these days. Anyways this is so embarrassing to admit but whatever maybe someone else has this too and feels less alone now

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

Just finished the show a few days ago, so that's why I'm only just posting this now.

[eggsnatcheskneecaps]

Do you ever just get hit with a wave of the most intense grief you've felt in a while

[skrunksthatwunk]

feeling it a little tonight

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. An ULTRAKILL screenshot of the end of level P-1: Soul Survivor, on standard difficulty. The screen displays that OP took 3 minutes and 5.18 seconds to complete it, got the required two kills, and ended with 9648 style points, not dying a single time. In other words, it's a perfect P-rank. End ID]

easy boss

[lesbians-all-the-way-down]

My life won't be complete until I name the other lead in the historical fiction I've decided I'm going to write.

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind. 

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words. 

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?” 

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out. 

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture. 

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them. 

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable. 

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position. 

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes. 

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know. 

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

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

[unsolicited-opinions]

You probably heard about the "14,000 babies in 48 hours" thing, but the media is doing a shit job of explaining it clearly.

Here's a recap:

---

The Claim

On May 14, 2025, Tom Fletcher, United Nations Humanitarian Coordinator, claimed during an interview on BBC Radio 4 that "14,000 babies could die in the next 48 hours in Gaza" due to severe humanitarian conditions.

This is Tom Fletcher:

The figure Fletcher gave was based on a "misinterpretation" of a report from the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC).

What the IPC had actually projected was that 14,100 children aged 6 months to 5 years in Gaza were projected to suffer severe acute malnutrition over the 12-month period between April 2025 and March 2026 - not that they were all babies, nor that they would die, let alone within 48 hours.

The malnutrition claim was spurious enough, but claiming 14,000 babies would die in 48 hours was batshit insane.

HOW BATSHIT WAS IT?

Totally, blatantly batshit.

Let's do some math.

14,000 deaths in 48 hours = 291 babies per hour, or nearly 5 babies every minute, around the clock, 24 hours/day.

This level of mass death in such a short timeframe is unheard of outside of a nuclear catastrophe or an active extermination campaign...and no such event was occurring.

You'd think an expert from the UN would know the basic demographics, right?

Gaza has a population of roughly 2.3 million.

About 15% of the population is under 5 years old, or roughly 345,000 children.

Of those, the number of infants (under 12 months) is far smaller - closer to 50,000-60,000.

If 14,000 infants were to die in 48 hours, that would be over 25% of all babies in Gaza. In two days.

No known famine, epidemic, or conflict has ever produced that kind of child mortality in such a short span.

Not even historical attrocities accomplished that death rate.

Anyone with a basic understanding of child mortality statistics, humanitarian logistics, historical precedent, or basic mental math should have been immediately skeptical. The number was a red flag on its face and the claim should have prompted instant demands for sources, verification, and context.

Nobody in the Western legacy media seems to have made such demands.

Beleiving this claim required ignoring basic demographics, suspending disbelief about death rates, and trusting emotionally explosive language over factual scrutiny.

That didn't stop Tom from saying it.

That didn't stop news outlets from reporting it.

That didn't stop people from believing it.

What were the consequences?

Since no correction came from the UN for more than a week and nobody in the media thought to do their jobs and question it, this false claim lived in the world for those 8 days.

The claim was cited in the UK House of Commons during debates on Gaza and humanitarian aid. Politicians referred to the figure as fact, influencing rhetoric and public policy discussions.

The emotional weight of the claim increased pressure on Western governments to take urgent action or adopt stronger positions regarding Israel's actions in Gaza.

The figure was emotionally powerful and l inflamed already-deranged pro-Palestinian camps.

I'd argue it helped fan the flames of anti-Israel sentiment and antisemitism.

The claim circulated widely on the 20th and 21st.

Direct causation between the climate created by this misinformation and the shooting in DC on the 21st is speculative, but I'm seeing a lot of speculation on that. Here's Hen Mazzig:

Just days ago, the UN published a scandalous headline claiming that Israel would kill 14,000 babies in 48 hours. In reality, the report stated: "14,100 severe cases of malnutrition could occur over the next year among children under five, if aid doesn't reach them." See how one year becomes 48 hours? How potential illness becomes certain death? How children become babies? Which headline do you think the antisemitic shooter in Washington DC read, and remembered? Words matter. Blood libels have consequences. They led to the murder of Yaron Lischinsky and Sarah Milgrim.

May their memories forever be a blessing

Because the false UN claim remained uncorrected for over a week, many individuals and advocacy groups based their calls to action, posts, and even protests on a false premise - creating a widespread misunderstanding about the scale and urgency of the crisis.

Finally, today, May 22nd of 2025, more than a week later, the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) is reported to have issued a clarification, stating the claim was a misreading of the IPC data. I can't find any evidence of it, but that's what's being reported.

Tom Fletcher has not issued an apology or public retraction for his statement. It seems there will be no consequences for his incompetence.

[midnightshindig]

i hope that’s not too distressing of a scenario but i wanna know how would mark, cecil, donald, rex and allen react to accidentally making you cry during an argument! god knows they’re capable of doing that lmao

Allen, Cecil, Donald, Mark, and Rex x Reader: Making you Cry

ngl if a man ever made me cry during an argument i'd hit him with my car

hcs under the cut!

Allen

like legit the most gentle dude alive

He fucks up sometimes because he treats you like an equal, and forgets that not everyone can take a verbal lashing like he can

You probably get into an argument about his job, telling him that you don't like him almost dying all the time

"What? You think I should let thousands of people die for YOUR comfort?! You don't get how much bigger this is! This is more important than you!"

it sends you over the edge, tears spilling down your puffy cheeks

It hurts to have something true said so hurtfully

he immediately caves, apologizing profusely and putting an arm around your shoulder

"Heyyy.... heyyyyy shh shh shhhhhh, I'm sorry- I'm so sorry baby I shouldn't have said that-"

he hates seeing a pretty person cry <3

Cecil

lowkey a menace ngl

He doesn't like making you upset but he's RIGHT and he's not willing to lie for the sake of your feelings

Like Allen, you probably fight about his job

"Y/n, let me make it crystal clear, if it comes down between my job and my relationships, you're welcome to leave."

"So what? I'm not allowed to have problems without you disregarding them?! That's not a relationship, Cecil. I'm not convenient for you."

He groaned, leaning into his hands "God don't I know. Trust me, Y/n, you're the furthest thing FROM convenient with these tantrums."

his words stung, coming from the man who was usually so kind. Who was so good at balancing the demands of his life and the demands of his love

you bit back tears, welling up in your tear ducts but holding their place due to your unwillingness to conciet

buuuuuut he noticed nontheless, and softened momentarily

"Y/n..... I'm.... I shouldn't have said that." he reached out for your hand, but you snatched it back and turned on your heel

"Fuck off, Cecil. Go do your important work." and with that you left the room, storming off somewhere else to cool down

Donald

Type of dude who doesn't get heated often

He's literally js a chill guy

Probably pulls a Devil Wears Prada and yells at you out of stress

"Y/n- Fuck- do you have those papers copied? Cecil needs them now-"

"Oh, sorry honey I thought I told you, our printer is out of ink." You replied casually, leaning against the dining room table

This sent Donald into a stressed panic as he raced around the room

"You didn't think to TELL ME?!!" He cried out, more aggressive than he intended

You'd never heard him yell before

CERTAINLY not at you

and the waterworks began

You sniffled and wiped at the tears with the backs of your hands

But Donald was too busy to notice, let alone console you

Nontheless, once he resolved with Cecil, the first thing he did was call you from work

"Y/n, I am SO sorry for yelling at you this morning. It was out of line and I apologize."

he topped it off by making dinner for you from scratch as an apology

Mark

He's so nice but he's SOOOOO stupid

you're probably arguing about something hypothetical, like a comic book morality issue

and he takes it too far

"Aghhh Mark, it's totally fucked up for Superman to have that much unchecked power! What happens if he turns evil or something?"

"Y/n, the point of superman is that he's a good guy!! He fights the bad guys!"

"Okayyyy but we see sometimes his idea of whats right differs from the government, who gets to make that decision? The government? How do you govern the ungovernable when the ungovernable is the one who governs you? How do you checks and balances a god?"

"Oh my god- If you're good, you're good. You don't need checks and balances if you're a good person!!"

"But what if someone with that kind of power WASN'T good?!" your argument increasing in heat, you jokingly feeding into his very real anger "You NEED kryptonite to ensure Superman doesn't go off the deep end!"

Marks eye twitched "And who is someone like YOU to decide what a SUPERHERO should and shouldn't be able to do?!? HUH?!"

"Mark you're taking this too seriously-"

"GAh- NO! I'm serious, Y/n!. What business do regular people have telling me how to use my abilities? The government?! What a joke!"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Mark, I love you, but you're starting to sound like your dad"

Marks eyes widened as he shot up from the bed, breathing heavy with anxiety at the accusation "SH- SHUT UP!!!"

The room shook a little, the bed shook harder, causing you to briefly lose your seating and rustling you a little more than you would've liked

You stared at him, wide eyed, afraid, and furious

tears silently streaming down your face

You quielty stood up and dusted yourself off, walking over to Mark, who had begun panicking when he realized what had happened

"You need to get it the fuck together. That was pathetic. I will not date the equivalent of a frat bro who punches walls when his girlfriend won't fuck him."

He reached out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his eyes widening when you flinched

"Oh- Oh fuck- Y/n, I am so sorry that was so horrible oh shit oh shit- are you okay? babe I'm so sorry" he wrapped you up in a hug, levitating off the floor slightly as he did, pulling you to your tiptoes

Rex

honestly he's such a dick i'm not surprised

You probably catch him ogling your waitress or smth and tell him off

It escalates from there:

"You were totally eye fucking her, Rex! What the hell?" You hissed, trying not to cause a scene in this Olive Garden

He scoffed, eating an olive off YOUR martini skewer "Babe please, I'm appreciating her boobie-I mean beauty!" He grinned, hoping his hilarious mistake would make up for his bullshit

You grimaced in response, rolling your eyes "Rex you're being a jackass. If this is how you are no wonder Eve left your ass."

He responded by spitting back "At least Eve was hot."

It hit him how stupid he was the second it left his mouth, and regret filled his expression as you slowly started crying

It was a restrained sob, only louder as you attempted to choke it back

Only made worse by the realization people were staring at your ugly, puffy, crying face

and Rex had caused it

he reached across the table for your hand "Hey- I didn't mean that. You're SO hot, you're like- gorgeous. Way prettier than the waitress."

He didn't get it.

You stood up and grabbed your bag, walking to the restroom as Rex followed suite

"Rex, go away."

"No! I apologized, why are you still crying? hey-" He tried to calm you down, following after you and cooing at you

"GAh-" you spit out, turning to face him "You think I need you to remind me your ex is a hot superheroine I can't compete with? And that you fumbled HER. If she wasn't enough for you how could I POSSIBLY be?!"

Rex softened, pulling you into the family restroom for some privacy

"I've grown up a lot since that, and even though I fuck up-" he took both your hands, looking at you through his eyelashes "I would NEVER cheat on you. Nobody deserves that. Especially not my gorgeous, amazing, patient, skilled, precious, unfathomably hot and hilarious, and perfect partner. You're all I want. My eyes wander but my heart-"

he put your hands on his heart

"My hearts all yours, babes."

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

“blue lock is just a manga about soccer” “blue lock is fruity and nothing else” i think nagi's character writing alone can immediately shut down all of these accusations. so now that chapter 302 has finally been released, let's have a (not so) quick discussion about nagi's character.

let's start from the beginning, during nagi's childhood. we've never seen a flashback in the official manga of nagi's backstory, nor do we see one in episode nagi, but there are numerous hints that lead us towards what might be nagi's childhood. in the egoist bible, it's said that nagi was raised with a very hands off style. in episode nagi, nagi says that his parents once told him “don't die before we do”.

so there's a lot to unravel there. for one, we can safely assume that nagi's parents likely weren't extremely involved in his life. judging from the way that nagi goes to an elite prep school and can live on his own with a consistent amount of food and lots of furniture, nagi is well off. judging from these factors, i wouldn't be surprised if nagi's parents were people who had to go on business trips often.

now, about the thing that they had told nagi. for one, nagi is seventeen when reo first meets him. a parent probably should say these sorts of things to their child in the first place, but for the argument's sake, let's just say that his parents are extremely inexperienced and not good with social cues. we can see that nagi is clearly emotionally stunted, likely from a lack of parental guidance or warmth as a child.

a parent telling their child about dying at such a young age is already alarming. yes, i know that there are warm and loving implications. that the parents wouldn't be able to live without nagi. but at the same time, considering how there are some people who are extreme pessimists, wouldn't that also imply that the parents should die before the kid?

and i'd also like to bring up another point. when nagi goes back “home”, he goes back to his dorm at school, not his parents’ house. i know that nagi still has to go to school, but does he not even bother to go to see his parents? do his parents not care enough to go and visit their son, who they watched fall from grace?

but i digress. basically what i'm saying is that from all of the hints we recieve throughout the story and additional media, nagi was likely emotionally neglected as a child due to his parents.

now let's talk about his relationship with reo. you can interpret their relationship in any way your want, though i personally see them as romantic. i think kaneshiro wrote them as soulmates, considering how they're both opposites and the same. reo recieved a suffocating amount of love in his childhood because his parents were so involved in his life. at least, that's how it is at face value. although, like nagi's parents, i have no doubt that they surely love reo, reo's parents definitely view reo as an heir to the corporation sometimes rather than their own son.

reo is seemingly always emotionally mature and calm, but that's not the case. we see numerous times throughout the series that reo has seemingly “grew” and that he has gotten over nagi or that he can do everything by himself from now on. but the momnt that something happens between him and nagi again, his development always end up shattering. reo is emotionally immature when it comes to nagi. i don’t think there's any other way to put that.

i think that nagi began to care more about everything after meeting reo. but at the same time, i also think that nagi is the type of person who cares too much. he cares so much that he pretends that he's just some nonchalant guy. in chapter 302, we see nagi walk by the stairs that he first met reo on and reminicing the time he met reo. but he continues to deny his love and desperation for soccer, until the end of the chapter, when he breaks down in tears.

nagi reminds me of a parent in a way. the type who continuously puts their child through hardship and always making their child do so many extracurriculars and sports, and the child just htes them, but when the child ends up being a successful adult due to the extracurriculars, the child finally realizes that the parent was just trying to thelp them all along but wasn't good enough at communication to tell them. i think that was reo and nagi’s relationship during the second selection, though nagi isn't reo's parent in any way shape or form.

i think nagi was originally just suppoed to be the stereotypical lazy relatable lovable genius character who would get blue lock more popularity, and i think reo was originally supposed to just be some annoying little brat who only saw nagi as a dog. and during the first selection in the original blue lock manga, before episode nagi released, i do believe that's how it was.

but i digress, i'm reaching too far there. so now let's talk about isagi and how isagi shaped more of nagi's characterization.

reo was the reason why nagi ever played soccer in the first place, isagi was the reason nagi continued, and reo was the reason why nagi kept on playing soccer to the end and why nagi couldn't play soccer anymore.

i think that isagi, similar to reo, serves as an opposite to nagi. but unlike reo, who still shares many similarties with nagi, isagi is completely different to nagi. i think that's the real reason why nagi chose isagi's team during the second selection, and not actually because of isagi's goal during the team v vs team z match.

so yeah, sorry for the yap session again. basically nagi is someone who pretends to be nonchalant but secretely cares too much lmao.

[jazeswhbhaven]

He Can Match Your Freak | Asmodeus Selfie Spoilers

OKAY sooo FINALLY I'm posting this lol it's probably going to be like two parts maybe??? Let's see how this goes because I'm learning to not post thousands of screenshots unless it's relevant.

First. I'm skipping the prologue because most have seen it, and I'm doing a different thing with that anyway.

SOOO it's gonna be a crash course ya'll with jumping right in when MC is in his room about to get them cheeks clapped.

He wants to know more about MC because of what he's heard and well he wouldn't be wrong here. MC apparently is quite the deviant. And you can tell the writers tried to describe him as majestic and breathtaking as possible because the way MC sees him is similar to how they see Leviathan.

Until they said this mess.

G I R L WH A T

Even Asmo was like ???? But he has a sense of humor so he just laughed it off which I mean okay yes as if he would care about that phrase being weird.

But MC out here actin' up once a g a i n. lol

But also they mention his body odor keeps wafting over in MC's nose clearly yeah because not only them pheromones' but uh anyways we'll get to that part later

And MC was just like covering their nose and is like "this is dangerous" and for me ya'll?

I'd be afraid to offend him by saying he smells ripe which I'm sure he wouldn't be offended because I'm not sure what would offend him at this point in time.

So big boi puts a sigil on MC's body similar to a womb tattoo which is why he said "be surprised you aren't pregnant" but this symbol makes you into his "female" no matter the gender. He goes to say it nicely that you're his "virgin" though.

And with that, most of what's happening is that MC is feeling the effects of Asmo without him even doing much of anything just yet. The feelings of having climaxed multiple times over, hazy, losing your goddamn mind.

That sort of thing.

Baby I would have cried on the spot. What do you mean be your companion?

Yup he asked MC to not only be his one night stand but to basically be his and that he thinks he could fall in love with them.

He says that he can fall in love at first sight despite his reputation. And also he mentions MC is his third love. First was Solomon (rejected him and wouldn't tell him who it is he was in love with) and two his late wife who was a witch and it's their children/descendants who are the Unholyc that inhabit Earth.

I'mma be honest with ya'll I didn't finish Lovely Unholyc because I was mostly interested in William, there was no route for him at that time so I just kinda dipped, tried again and then dipped lol

oh btw he apparently just straight up wanted to yap about him clapping Solomon's cheeks and getting his cheeks clapped back and how many damn positions they did and I'm trying to wrap my head around what the fuck they did because at one point surely they were on the ceiling or floating mid-air, like I don't even know

But his wife who chose to live on Earth and grow old and die normally put a curse on his soul. He can love and fuck whoever he wants and should never be lonely but he can't have any more children. If he does, they die, and he dies along with the partner he made them with. (the fall of the house of usher vibes)

AND let me just say? That woman did the world a favor because he has a breeding kink. We'd have a whole universe full of little Asmo halflings running around. So either it was her being possessive or just her sparing the world of that burden then yeah thank you for that because phew.

i don't need no babies anyways

And he says the same thing like "Oh we can leave other things other than babies, like photos of us in a mess" meaning he really meant when he said he wanted to participate in the contest.

I mean he would have won so I think it's fair to give the others a chance. Lol

So things are getting hot and heavy now and he's wondering why MC is holding back. Honestly I'm like huh he did say that he turns you into a virgin and not everyone is confident when being presented with the chance of a lifetime to fuck the embodiment of lust.

But at the same time I mean...MC this is your element and you are pretty much striking out. (not to him but to me you are)

SO I complied all of these because this is important. Asmodeus is literally combining all of their philias and using them on MC and he's quite good at it. And well, why wouldn't he be?

And he even goes to strangle and lick up MCs tears?

Yeah we know what he's about.

His tongue did what now?

his tongue did what now

his tongooooooooooooo

Anyways I short circuited there because everything about him is just driving me nuts.

MC even said they were coming by him just kissing them and I'm like hold up??????

I fucking bet.

Okay ya'll picked the nastiest ass stuff for him to mention but I get it. Congrats if ya'll have things you're self conscious about during sex Asmo's your demon because he literally won't care and will still be turned on.

Ayo.

Moving on....LMAO

And uh...Asmo was licking MC's snot and spit off their face and they came again.

I'm drowning in a sensory nightmare why is he so h o t but this is nastttyyyyyy

"I can always go hard whenever I feel like fucking the opponent"

Sir what? He just be sayin' anything

But he does ask MC what do they want...and they just smack the fuck out of him so there's that. Lol

I would tell him I'd very much like that mouth on the kewchie. I don't even need anything else just his mouth. His jaw probably can go for days.

Now MC is making deduction here that Asmo is the king of lust and seduction and can pass this feeling on to others. He's dangerous this way.

Now Asmo how do you know that.

Tell me sir HOW (I think I know the answer....but I'd be hella surprised that Belphie would let him hit unless he was watching him...)

But mostly what's happening is that MC is feeling what Asmo feels basically the same spiel as the other kings except with him it's intense to the point where they are quite literally about to pass the fuck out. And Asmo ain't about to stop momentum so you better stay awake MC.

NOW YA'LL.

Bullet point times:

MC has climaxed pretty much several times and they haven't even fucked properly yet

But wait, their clothes are off and....

Bam they notice that Asmo's cock is pretty much halfway in their hole and they haven't even noticed

All he did was push himself to the hilt and MC squirted ya'll

So there's that.

But the womb tattoo is doing it's job because now the climaxes are back to back, and I'm just wondering how the hell MC is still mentally there because I'd be a babbling mess.

Yes daddy.

he makes me SICK (lovingly)

But also they mention the liquid he was feeding MC had a horrible smell and I'm just like oh fucking gawd please get rid of my sense of smell before sleeping with him because I would not make it. Why is everything having to do with him smell so much? LOL

LMAO

MC was begging for his dick and Asmo is like, baby it's already in are you okay?

I'm crying

Yeah remember those memes about people getting high and saying they were vacuuming the dishes?

I imagine that's what it's like having sex with him. One minute you're on the bed next you're in another dimension, floating, transcending, melting, legs bent in impossible shapes. Indeed I am mopping the lawn.

He even mentioned they've done it like six times already and he's just getting started.

with a face like that? phew.

Oh so he does have a good pull out game.

btw the visual for that???? GAWDDDDDDD -> look here

So let me back up a bit and mention that MC was feeling insecure that since they have been doing it for quite some time (2 days I think?) they thought he wasn't satisfied. Nah he was just savoring the moment. He could come at any time. ANd when he does? It's alot and from his horn and everything. Cum fountain.

And best part? No refractory period. He's already hard and slamming that thang back in.

Also he mentions here that there's a smell, and he's getting really worked up.

Yeah he's tearing that up. Like it's overtime ya'll.

There's purple smoke and a erotic aura in the air, he's grabbing and biting down on the back of MC's neck to claim them? Oh he's going in.

Alright here we go.

And just so ya'll know...sorry male MC players....the same line is used in ya'lls version too. No change.

This is the point where I would of preferred perhaps something else be said entirely instead. I know the majority of players are women/non-men but...I can see someone playing and getting side swept like?????

But anyways let's move on past this point

Until the room stank is an understatement.

But anyways, while MC is trying to somewhat calm down, Asmo is still trying to keep the momentum. And MC starts trying to have a normal conversation and figuring out why devil's fear him the most.

But also mentioned they wanted to shove his nasty, greasy, bodily fluid covered hair up their hole. E x c u s e the fuck outta me?

AN Y W AY S

Mc figures that the reason the devils fear him is because of this. Imagine falling for someone like this? Who is nothing but the sole reason existence of lust and temptation where you could fuck for hours and reach pleasure centers unknown and yet have that all be taken away when he leaves? There's no love? No sweet nothings? Just being used up and tossed without any direction and you're just in the dark?

welp.

But Asmo does offer MC some comfort

He tells them that he's back in Hell so he will be around more often. It won't be painful, that it's okay to start slow and that MC would wait for him when he's ready to fully accept his feelings. He could fall in love with them not that he was already in love with them. But with how he's considering him as a companion, how he's biting and claiming them, the amount of time he's spending with MC.

mind you he left Phenomenon on the floor the moment he entered the meeting room so I imagine they weren't fucking for very long at all. I imagine all of his sessions with others are "quick" and for those he really likes they last longggg like days.

Not mention he on that yandere vibes....telling MC he'd lock them up in a cage but he'll deal with it for now.

And apparently when he gives a sincere command, it must be followed. So MC basically ends up getting dressed, not whining about leaving, and all that good stuff. A true dom in that sense.

Also he mentions that when he's nearby MC will just get turned on automatically. "Your body will scream that your man is here"

why is that so hot?

So MC is back in Gehenna and this is when Asmo starts reminiscing about Solomon who predicted that he'd see MC in the future and that he would know that he feels at the moment for Solomon is not 'love'.

I wonder if Asmodeus was just helplessly losing himself for Solomon, and pepaw clocked that and was just telling him to chill on it for a bit. Although it is fucking WI L D to me that he is going to try this again with his friend's descendant..."hey I'm a friend of your grandpa...soooo yeah let's fuck and fall in love"

Sounds weird when I put that way huh? lol

Also since we're at the end I'd like to highlight some personality things about him!

He plays too much: Taking a photo of himself and MC sleeping and sending it to Satan knowing he'd storm immediately to the room

He doesn't have self doubt, he is very much full of himself but is considerate of his partner given the circumstances

He is not into aftercare, he claims that part is included during the sex, if sex is over then it's over

He doesn't shower ya'll. Like at all. But he oddly keeps his nails clean and that's about it? He seems to be obsessed with sex funk

He really likes Mammon. Like a lot. But he does that thing where he's like "Nah I want him to want me so I won't give him what he wants" lol okay

He fucks pillows, pretty much inanimate objects if he feels like it

He has a sense of humor

Romance is not absent, it's just tricky for him since all that's all his brain is "breed breed breed breed sex sex sex breed breed breed oh lets pause for a break sex sex sex kissing sex sex breeding biting"

He loves his children though. He really is a fatherly devil. He beams about his kids and this is a moment where you can catch him not being sexual

It comes to no surprise that he doesn't like the idea of sharing his favorite person but it has me think that his style of relationship is that he's monogamous but if you want to occasionally bring someone to "play" with he won't mind as long as it's discussed and he gets to fuck them too

He's got a one track mind, but it's not like he can't carry on a conversation

Now for my

T H E O R I E S

Asmo is older than all of the kings, but younger than Lucifer

I am reaching in the dark but it seems the only King he's had sex with or has watched have sex is Belphie

He's only in love with MC because he's taking a opportunity that wasn't given to him with Solomon

There's most likely a loophole to his curse that his late wife left on him but he simply chooses not to break it

If the Kings fight together along with Asmodeus, the war would be over, and if we ever get a final battle chapter it's going to be MC who is the missing "key" and the one who figures that out is Asmo because he spent so much time with Solomon

We may get a cameo from one of his children in the story

Asmodeus is possibly capable of lying and just hasn't revealed that to anyone. I say this because if he was one of the very early devils created he is the exception to the rule. So there could be some secret he knows.

BUT wow it seems that I have compiled ALL of this into one post. YAY FOR ME. Now there may be more little blurbs popping up as I remember them but for nowwwwww~ Thank you for reading, hopefully you grabbed some snacks, and ya'll are amazing. Feel free to let me know ya'lls thoughts if you haven't said already on our stinky hot devil man <3 lol

[moolthecow]

i ain't gonna sugarcoat it.

[sunderwight]

Demon Shen Jiu is such a fun idea though.

Especially if he himself doesn't know. Like imagine, Yue Qi finds this abandoned baby and the baby is REALLY OBVIOUSLY not human. But this also enables Shen Jiu to survive being abandoned at such a young age -- a human baby would die without adequate nutrition or care, but demons are a little more resilient. Baby Demon SJ has a way more forgiving digestive system and can move under his own power from a much earlier age. By the time he's a year old he's hunting his own rodents and small birds, and has to be stopped from biting and mauling anyone he doesn't like. Which is most people. Qi-ge develops amazing reflexes.

Why do the slavers tolerate a demon baby hanging around? Maybe it's really not all that uncommon. Demons come across the borderlands from time to time, and are as liable to abandon their kids or die or etc as anyone else. It's maybe an open secret among slavers that demon-blooded kids are a better investment, even, because they can survive for longer on less. The only downside is if they don't ever look human enough to pass as human, because that limits potential buyers, but that's only relevant when the slavers are trying to sell them. For the purposes of having a network of street kids stealing and grifting and spying and etc, it's fine. A lot of the slavers themselves started out as demon-blooded street kids with no other options.

But in SJ's case, he pretty quickly starts passing as human. Mostly because he's quite strong, and he's convinced that he's the same as his Qi-ge, so he makes himself the same. Makes his hands look the same and his teeth look the same and etc. It's largely subconscious, and once he starts doing it, it becomes automatic. SJ forgets that he's a demon in the way that most people don't retain their earliest childhood memories -- although he remembers that some of the slavers were demons.

Then of course there's the question of why didn't the Cang Qiong cultivators notice?

A few options. One is that whatever kind of demon SJ is, it's really good at mimicking humans. Another is that he's only part demon, and like Luo Binghe, fully capable of handling both kinds of cultivation. So once he starts learning spiritual cultivation, even from a heretic like Wu Yanzi, he doesn't seem different from any other recruit with a patchy education on the subject. Anything else odd about him could be easily attributed to his exposure to Wu Yanzi and his wicked practices.

Although full demon SJ is a fascinating idea. (Also, it could contribute to all those qi deviations -- he's trying to cultivate AND "fake" human cultivation at the same time, I doubt Qing Jing's techniques are totally compatible with everything going on there even without the psychological turmoil.) Like I'd imagine Airplane wrote that SJ was abandoned on the streets as a baby, and the system was like "hmm he probably wouldn't survive that?" and then in some nine billionth wife arc, Airplane also creates a variety of demon that can fully pass as human (for some identity conflict with a prospective wife), even to the point of fooling human cultivators and demon-detecting tools. So the system just ties these two disparate pieces of world-building together in order to patch a critical plothole (Airplane doesn't know anything about babies). Which has the side effect that Shang Qinghua doesn't even know that SJ became a demon!

And SJ himself doesn't know. The only person who knows is Yue Qi.

Obviously this wouldn't come up much in PIDW, but it could be pretty funny in the SVSSS timeline. YQY just sitting there through the whole Luo Binghe being a half-demon reveal, wondering if he should say something. Subsequently being the most absolutely chill about the whole demon reveal thing anyway. Like he's definitely not upset that Luo Binghe is a demon, or part demon, and the multiple people who try to make a point about it just run afoul of his impenetrable smile and get nowhere.

Then eventually Yue Qingyuan decides that he should probably tell Bingqiu that Shen Qingqiu is a demon. For like, safety purposes if nothing else. He's kept the secret so long also for safety purposes (even if someone put Shen Qingqiu under a truth compulsion he wouldn't be able to admit to being a demon, because he himself doesn't know!), and he's done tons of stuff to prevent anyone ever finding out (although Xiao Jiu is so talented that he didn't have to do much), but Luo Binghe is the demon emperor. That changes things. If Shen Qingqiu is going to be visiting the demon kingdoms regularly then there's a chance something could reveal the truth unexpectedly, and that would probably be worse.

So Yue Qingyuan sits down and has a very serious discussion with Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe about how Shen Qingqiu is actually a demon, was just the cutest little demon baby in fact, here he drew a picture from memory of what Xiao Jiu used to look like before he learned to look more human, and also how a lot of slave kids and slavers and people who fall through the cracks in society have demon ancestry, some more recent than others, and Shen Qingqiu always retained a certain discomfort around his own kind because of the adult slavers who sold him off, and etc etc.

[sitronsangbody]

Warning: this gets grim

I'm up at night thinking about an episode of Supernatural and how it demonstrates some really heinous public attitudes toward fat people.

Mild spoilers for Supernatural season 6 I guess:

Dean Winchester has to take on the job of Death for a day, meaning he has to go to those who are supposedly destined to die, witness their final moments, and give them the touch of death, thus claiming their lives and sending them to the afterlife. He soon struggles to live up to his responsibilities as he's required to end the lives of a sick child and a young nurse. His first two victims, however, don't bother his conscience at all. The first is an armed robber who threatens to shoot a little boy and gets killed by the boy's father. The second is a fat man who has a heart attack.

When I say fat, what I really mean is fat-coded; the man is simply not stick thin in the way that nearly every character on the show is, so he counts as fat and his storyline (minor though it is) is tied to his size. He is in his 50s, maybe early 60s. We first see him wolfing down a cheeseburger, and Dean says "this looks like a heart attack situation", before the man indeed clutches his chest and dies. When he asks why he had to die, Dean's reply is: "you think maybe it was the extra cheese?"

His death is not portrayed as tragic in any way. He himself is only mildly distressed. We don't get to see anyone grieving for him. His death is there to be one of the Easy ones, an unsurprising, almost comical and even deserved(?) death to make Dean think it's not that bad of a gig, ending people's lives. And we, the viewers, are supposed to agree. We're not invited to feel sad for this man in the slightest, even in retrospect. Everyone who created this scene and decided to keep it in the show, believed this to be a normal way to think of a fat person suddenly dying. This came out in 2010.

It just encapsulates so much stuff - really fucking dark stuff, I might add - about how fat lives have been viewed through the years. That scene (and scenes like it) says:

- when fat people die, it's because they brought it on themselves. They are ticking timebombs and their death is expected.

- when fat people die young, no they don't, because being fat means living on borrowed time anyway, so a fat person dying way earlier than the average life expectancy is not tragic the way it is if a thin person does.

- when fat people die, it's definitely because they are fat (and they are fat because they make bad choices).

- when fat people eat what's considered unhealthy food, it's depressing and stupid and they're out of control. Dean Winchester is canonically a big fan of fast food and eats burgers all the time on the show. Because he is thin and fit, this is portrayed as fun, relatable and manly.

- when fat people die, it's not sad.

And like, I wish this was exclusive to fiction, but there are real people who act like this when real fat people die. Like they know why, even if they have no clue, like it shouldn't be shocking, like it's self-inflicted and therefore deserved, and like it probably wasn't much of a life anyway so it's just not that tragic, really.

This stuff is, just for me personally, one of the roughest sides of anti-fatness. When people deny us dignity in death. Partly because it's so ghoulish, and partly because it's so ubiquitous it appears in media like this, without controversy. I'd like to believe there would be stronger reactions had this plotline come out today in 2025, but I am not confident.