#nice cortex

[vaggieslefteye]

VOX, Media Overlord | 1x02 - Radio Killed The Video Star

"[He's] up in his tower waiting for a flat-faced prince to calm him down."

[spaloonbabooguuscooties]

i think yeah, if nina's gonna stay a "villain", the megamind thing is a decent fit. i could also just as easily accept an interpetation that, the villainy thing is almost more like. a hobby? like she does it just, as a fun thing to do with crash and coco and co., despite any protests. like they have a big battle till the machine of the week explodes, and nina goes "good job guys, same time next week :)", and assumedly coco is like "nina uh, could you actually not, maybe? nina?"

pairing this with the other ask (that im Assuming is also from you LOL but idk) just so i can get my full thoughts out, which are au,mm a lot . and apologies if they arent written especially well i do kind of think of these things as i write them so. be excited for run on sentences and a bunch of bullshit parenthesis

but see i get your complaint here. i know there's a disconnect from like, twinsanity where shes entirely mute to tag team racing where she DOES talk, and then to crash of the titans/mind over mutant they definitely all feel like slightly different characters. (not to mention the spyro/crash game she was first introduced in where she sounds like shes like 8 or something LMAO)

personally i enjoy her character in tag team racing the most but thats because she has SO much dialogue in it i think that it actually gives you a good sense of personality. but i also think that coco is the best personality wise in that game for the same reason so . (not that i think all of the characters in ttr are uhh. great🫩 but nina and coco def shine for me)

idk i also think tag team is good for her because it feels like it could fit most in line with her like lackadaisical attitude from twinsanity i can definitely see her still skipping around and like. having a good time. shes overdramatic and confident and funny. a little snotty but i like herrr ... i like her lil ugly ass❤️ shes shot two people ect

THAT BEING SAID . idk! i feel like i can give a pass for COT/MOM nina acting a little different (i honestly dont even think its That different from ttr but there isnt a lot of time to really see how she acts . because its not a good game heart) because it feels like shes older in those games and so i feel like (at least how i interpret this change in character but i doubt they thought about it this hard) its less that they went with how she looks and more like i can just See her being less silly and more sneering and brooding over time? like especially if you take the shit cortex does at face value and hes genuinely shitty to her along with him being her only (LIVING. BY THE WAY. LIKE IM PRETTY SURE HE KILLED HER PARENTS? IS THAT NOT THE IMPLICATION? not that i think she KNOWS that) family i can see Why shed loose her smile and whimsy and joy as she gets older and starts internalizing that. idk! i know people hate the titans games (Understandable . I Get It) but i actually like a lot of the plot threads brought up for her too. her doing well in madam amberlies and being the top of the class is good to me and it would make sense that you could interpret her being put in evil public school that after cortex kind of . attacks the head mistress in twinsanity gets her kicked out and after he gets tired of dealing with her in COT she gets sent there instead . so theres another thing hes ruined for her yknow. of course shes pissed off and hates her life now shes getting swirlies and physically attacked every day and she Sucks and everyone hates her . and its FUNNY. I LIKE IT.

and i think that whole having her life ruined over and over could lend well to her becoming a good guy sure but i also think it lends really well into her feeling the need to Really be better than cortex as a villain. because shes canonically smarter than him already anyway i think being able to succeed him while being 'evil' in her Own way (and not the way hes trying to force her to be) would be important to her. i think she values the control that taking over the world would give her as well since shes never had that before! shes had every choice she could make ripped away from her just like her stupid hands. imo, i think she deserves to go crazier actually.

which isnt even to say i dont think she could become good eventually. i think once she gets her turn to be an actual villain instead of an asset and gets it out of her system with coco and crash and everyone she could kind of learn to Settle and be a little more normal.

my base thing with all this here is that i think if she is redeemed it has to be gradual imo. because cortex has been there her whole Life. hes hurt her and manipulated her in that more insidious way that he hasnt Done to the other mutants like crunch, and thats where shes different. she doesnt have the luxury of breaking out of containment from a lab or something because as far as shes aware cortex is all shes got! so her becoming more angry and stuff at her situation and kind of eventually realizing shes being used while also being Raised to be a bad person still i think is going to have a bad impact on how she moves forward before it evolves into her realizing she Can be a good person and be loved like that.

because! you know! she doesnt and has never had friends so she doesnt know what THATS like. has probably not been hugged enough as a kid bc i knowww cortex is conditional as fuck with his love (if you can even call the few times hes nice to her love) and even when he Does say hes proud of her for the evil things she does shes STILL punished for it which is in turn going to make her think she isnt good enough and overcompensate for it. he literally took her hands bc he didnt like that she got to feel joy from petting animals . she cant touch anyone without physically hurting them. so like theres noo way she isnt going to develop severe trust issues on top of that.

and this is just under the assumption that the bandicoots are treating her normally from the jump and are wholly Good and nice . bc personally i liked the weird one sided rivalry thing that coco has with her in ttr also where coco is like fuucking obsessed with her for no reason and is constantly trying to beat her. and i dont think coco IS a good person in the same unconditional way crash is (but i can get into that later) so i think itd take a lot of time for coco to want to open her arms and give nina the opportunity to change . and see that shes more than a villain trying to kill them? especially because for the most part i dont think nina would be willing to show that kind of vulnerability to her outside of extreme duress. LMAO.

THIS ALL BEING SAID of course this is also the less silly fun way of seeing these characters and more me taking everything too seriously i guess. and i DO want nina to have fun still ofc . i do see her interactions with coco and the others even when shes fighting them as like the singular positive thing going on in her life so i think she seeks it out a lot! because its banter and something physical to focus her energy on and even tho theyre on opposite sides shes being treated like an equal for once which is really good for her. its just that she assumes that the only way to Get that kind of treatment is to Keep Being Evil. which is also fun for her anyway like she clearly Enjoys being a bit of a menace even back in twinsanity so.

not that any of this even matters because It's About Time retconned all of it❤️❤️❤️❤️🤪 but whatever that 5th game is never getting made so i have no gods or masters . take my 200 paragraph nonsense slop

[umeko-816]

ざぁーこ❤️　ざぁーこ❤️

( U noob❤️, U noob❤️ )

ねおかｩわ　ナイストライ❣️

( Neokauwa Nice Try❣️ )

[c0smiccom3t]

GUESS WHO GOT TO BE ON LEX LANG'S INSTAGRAM LIVE TONIGHT!!!!!

[berryshipbasket]

Hello! I hope I am not intruding with my upcoming question.

This one is for Dr Neo Cortex! A mad scientist huh? Surely you must raise your child in a similar direction! Or is it 'child figure'? Apologies if I messed something up there!

Anyway, as for my question… What is the one achievement of your kid you are the most proud of? I'm sure there's something!

Already looking forward to hear about it!

@nimue-hidden-lake

(You're not intruding at all!! And to clarify he is my dad : ] adoptive father, but still my father!!)

⭐⚡ "AN EXCELLENT QUESTION!!" Cortex let out an evil chuckle as he tapped his fingers together.

"As a father I'm bound to be proud of most of their achievements!!.. I'd say the thing I'm most proud of is them being able to figure out their identity! It's not an easy thing to do, but whatever makes my Starlight comfortable, then I'm happy and support them all the way!!"

"Oh, and always talking smack about N.Tr.opy. That's always a plus."

He'd look around, hoping the time lord didn't hear what he had just said.

[izzyssurfcheese]

Does anyone else ever just get overwhelmed by how much they love the people in their lives?

Like your just sitting and then one minute your brain just flashbangs you with like your family and friends and you just feel like

“Hahahahhahaha what the fuck I love these people so much and I don’t know what I would do without them? 🥲😭”

Is this my prefrontal cortex developing?

[brightresearchers]

Are elder siblings valid?

You are a somewhat likable person (58.57%).

"See, this is why being honest is important."

Friendliness: Those who score high in friendliness generally exude openness, warmth, and enthusiasm; they often make others feel welcome and comfortable. Congenial people are obviously likable as they make us feel warm and fuzzy. They also often smile and make everyone feel included.

Humor: We like people who make us laugh, and we feel drawn to people who humorously break the tension in demanding situations. Moreover, moods are contagious, and we like to spend time with those who are happy and energetic. It is also important to be able to balance passion and having fun; humorous people who can be serious while maintaining a positive vibe are often especially well-liked.

Happiness: One element that attracts us to others is the feeling that they are happy with who they are – comfortable in their own skin and where they are in life. People who thus have “nothing to prove” will often have an easier time being honest, taking a genuine interest in others, and manifesting an air of ease and straightforwardness around themselves.

Kindness: Kind people are helpful, generous, and considerate; they tend to draw others to them. We tend to want to connect with people who have been caring to us. We also tend to pay special attention to such people – those who seem appreciative of us and are genuinely humble in their interactions with us. Understandably, we like to spend more time with individuals who are empathetic, charitable, courteous, and nurturing toward us than with those who are the opposite.

Positivity: Optimistic people make others feel empowered and happy; they positively affect those around them since they can find something good in most people and situations. This trait also covers lavishing others with positive and encouraging comments. Moreover, such people tend to show positive body language such as strong posture, smiling, and having open shoulders.

Tolerance: People who score high in this trait are often curious about and interested in others while showing tolerance and understanding, which in turn makes them interesting to others. They also practice active listening and make the people around them feel seen and important. People high in this trait are likable since they are approachable and do not have a judgmental attitude. We often do not like to have conversations with those who have already formed an opinion of us in their heads and are unwilling to listen.

Honesty: Research has shown that we gravitate toward people who can be relied upon to be honest, dependable, and loyal. Such people are often consistent and try their best to not let their own moods affect how they treat others. Likewise, such people try to be genuine – clear and frank about their opinions – and strive to avoid lies, betrayals, and misleading others. Trustworthy individuals generally know who they are and are confidently comfortable in their own skin.

[meowdei]

the psychology of men (a guide to understanding how they work) — ft. phainon

if nice guys didn’t always screw you over, you’d have an easier time trusting that phainon isn’t the good guy full of bullshit. but he’s still nice enough to patiently wait for you to give him one chance, though

word count. ❤︎ 10.3k words — in literally one day. ONE

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; college au ; reader has a shitty ex boyfriend and trust issues — she is not perfect but she is human. be nice to her ; strangers to friends with benefits to lovers ; reader has a crush on mydei at first LOL ; mentions of alcohol and drunk sex ; phainon is a YEARNER ; resolved angst, miscommunication, and arguments ; phainon is down bad and reader is simply in denial that she is too ; cunnilingus ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; not proof read

commentary. ❤︎ i didn’t care about this dude until today. he possessed me so hard i wrote 10k words in less than 24 hours. white hair and blue eyed freaks will do that to you

LESSON ONE: MEN ARE ALWAYS PLANNING SOMETHING. THE NICER THEY SEEM, THE MORE SINISTER THE SCHEME!

You meet Phainon for the first time while you’re freshly out of a relationship, nursing a broken heart. Your ex-boyfriend pursued you with that heartfelt, fairytale sort of devotion, and you thought you’d be telling people at your wedding one day that you knew he was “the one” early on in your relationship. 

And then he dumped you as quickly as he “fell in love” with you. It wouldn’t be right, he’d said, it just isn’t fair to keep you around when I don’t feel the way I used to. He leaves you with not so much as a tear of sorrow, and you’re left with the aftermath of a devastating heartbreak. 

Not the sad, lingering kind—this one is the sort of heartbreak that makes you hate all men. Especially the nice ones—the ones that manipulate you into thinking they’re the good guys who won’t turn on you, but they do. They always do. The nice guys are the ones with the most potential to turn out dangerous. They aren’t upfront about their assholery. That shitty ex of yours is a prime example, and you refuse to fall victim twice. 

Your first impression of Phainon happens in some boring college class you take just for the elective credit and an easy gpa boost. He’s the sort of guy your attention doesn’t instantly latch onto—he’s sweet, sure, and funny but a little too gentle to be real. Too good to be true. Too much of a green flag to be interesting. Exactly the kind of guy you’re avoiding—exactly the sort of person who can worm his way into your heart slowly and lethally and then bite. Hard. (That sort of mindset is too pessimistic to be any good, of course, but you’re only just barely in your twenties as you navigate your dramatic breakup, and your prefrontal cortex is still developing.)

You find his friend a little more intriguing for the longest time, if you’re honest. The brooding blonde next to him always made your eyes linger for a second too long. 

“Hey,” he whispers, poking your shoulder from behind. You turn, slightly irritated by the fact that some guy is interrupting your dissociation in the middle of class—doesn’t he know you have false scenarios to run through your mind while you pass the time? Professor Anaxagoras has a strict no-phones-in-sight policy if you want to keep your participation points up, so the only thing to entertain you is your own head. Sheepishly, as if sensing your irritation, he murmurs, “Sorry. Can I please use your laptop charger?”

“I’m using it,” you blink. 

“Yeah, but it’s almost fully charged,” he practically pleads. The puppy eyes on him are unreal—you feel almost compelled to cave just at the sight of them alone until you realize it’s your charger, and he’s bargaining with you about why you don’t need it. Absurd. “I can see the green battery sign.”

“Are you serious,” you stare at him blandly, “it’s barely twelve pm. Why is your laptop already dying anyway?”

“I charged it,” he pouts, “but she’s old and on her last legs. It doesn’t last if I take the charger out for too long—I forgot to bring it with me. Please. If it dies in the middle of this assignment, it’ll make me start over! It took me an hour to google all these answers.”

Well. He’s convincing in that pathetic sort of way. Just the perfect mix between nice and genuine but still a tad bit needy that just tickles your gut in the right place to loosen you up. Without a word, you unplug your charger with a roll of your eyes and hand it to him as he smiles gratefully. 

“You’re the best!”

“You’re pathetic,” his friend grunts to him from beside him.

“Don’t be rude, Mydei!” he whispers through a wounded voice. 

They continue to bicker back and forth, but you tune it out—there’s only one thought on your mind for the remainder of your time in that room. 

You spend the rest of class thinking about the deep sound of his friend’s voice to care about anything else. Fuck, you think—you’re almost debating that strict no more men rule you’d set for yourself after your break up, ready to throw it all away for the grumpy looking blonde with red tips behind you. He’s hot. And honestly, he seems a bit rude and crabby, so really, he can’t be that bad—and yeah, everyone would think he’s the red flag, but you know how men go. You’ve figured out their psychology. The ones who are prickly on the exterior are actually very soft inside, and they’re not half as bad as the soft, cuddly type of men who turn around and bite you as soon as you’re close enough. 

This guy could be different. He could be worked into devotion instead of smothering you with it early on, only to have ulterior motives and get bored. What was his name again? Mydei? Sounds decently moanable in bed, you reason. He certainly seems like a keeper. 

It’s not long before the lecture ends, and you walk off with all your thoughts consumed by the grumpy blonde guy who said maybe only three words that you properly heard before he possessed your mind like a fucking demon. So much so that you forget to ask for your charger back, and that clever asshole never gave it back on his own accord like a proper human being. 

So, the next time Phainon walks into class, you’re glaring at him right at the entrance of the room with an outstretched hand and an unimpressed curl of your lips. 

“My charger,” you say blandly, “you took off with it last class. I need it back.”

“Oh!” he flushes, quickly digging into his bag and pulling it out—at least he kept it in very good condition. Men are not to be trusted with things you need because they are irresponsible. Case example: not returning what they borrow. “Sorry,” he says earnestly, “I meant to return it, but I forgot. Which, I was thinking…maybe we should exchange numbers—you know…to contact outside of class if we ever need it.”

You blink, seeing right through him. Why else would you ever need it again? “You walked off with my charger just so you could use it as an opening to ask for my number?”

He flushes a deeper shade of red, creeping up to his ears and down his neck like he didn’t expect you to call him out on his so very blatant scheme. “W-well…did it work?”

You contemplate for a moment before you respond, “No.”

“How about if I throw in some assignment answers?”

“…Okay, fine.” You never pay attention in this class—the tests are open notes, and the weekly assignments are easy enough when you have the internet at your disposal. But still, having someone present the answers to you is a much faster route, and you have other non-elective classes to worry about, so all in all, if a semi-annoying guy messages you here and there, it’s not so bad.

And the better part is that his friend is hot, so you can snag the details on him, too. Men don’t really worry about the concept of loyalty—they don’t stay far away from the people their friends show an interest in for something like friendship. You know how they work. Phainon’s number can lead you to Mydei’s, and Mydei can break you free from your awful, terrible descent to madness from heartbreak, and when you inevitably have a happy, healthy, and loving relationship that lasts, you’ll never think about your bastard ex again.

Foolproof.

“Great!” Phainon beams. He hands you his phone, and you type your number in.

And that starts it all. 

────────────────────────

LESSON TWO: SEX DOES NOT EQUAL INTIMACY. WHEN THEY SAY IT’S JUST PHYSICAL, THAT’S TOTALLY FINE. BUT IF YOU SAY IT, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE!

Exchanging phone numbers with Phainon was supposed to be a simple way to have at least one contact for a class—a very important measure you should take for every class you’re in—and perhaps, if you’re lucky, you could also somehow get closer to that hot blonde friend he has named Mydei. 

It was never supposed to become a real friendship.

But, well…shit happens, and things don’t go according to plan. It also doesn’t help that Phainon is a consistent texter—almost to a fault. What sort of man doesn’t text sporadically and with a tone as dry as concrete? Phainon, apparently—which is not like any sort of man you’ve ever known. 

You even start sitting with him in class instead of in front of him—that’s a terribly unplanned development. The bright side of it, however, is that you quickly get over his friend. Mydei is nice, but he’s a little too bored. Or maybe he just isn’t interested in you; you’re not so sure. No amount of flirty comments gets a flush out of him, not a smirk, not even a smart retort back. He is just…bored. (Or maybe he’s secretly just one of those good friends who doesn’t flirt with the girl that his friend is actively trying to pursue, but that option does not align with your very complex understanding of men, so you shove it aside. He’s probably just bored, and that’s just truly unfortunate. He was hot.)

But you grow fond of Phainon. As a friend. Sure, he’s clearly been interested in you since day one, but he’s not pushy, and a hint here and there that you’re still bitter about your previous relationship makes him keep a respectful distance. But he’s definitely smitten—and you? Well, you’re lonely. And he’s a good guy. A good guy who keeps you good company as a good friend and nothing more. He knows that, and you don’t think you’re stringing him along if he’s aware that you’re nothing more than friendly. 

And sometimes, friends go to parties together. And sometimes, they also drink together. And sometimes, they also end up staying at the other’s apartment afterward because it’s closer and safer than trying to get back home alone. And…sometimes, although not a lot of times—but sometimes, they wake up in bed together, nude with no recollection of the previous night and love bites scattered on their necks as proof that something very, very physical happened between them.

It’s not always a common occurrence, but it’s certainly not a rare one. Does it complicate things? For certain—but you think that you and Phainon are good enough friends and mature enough people to know that sex does not equate to intimacy. Most men are super clear about that, anyway—it’s almost ingrained in their nature to say “no strings attached” before they fuck your brains out in every position they can think to try. This should not be a foreign concept to him. 

But it doesn’t make the morning any less awkward. 

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, pulling the sheets over your bare chest as you stare at Phainon like he’s grown two heads. He stares back at you like you’re some figment of his imagination—unsure if you’re real but painfully hopeful that you are. And then you take a quick glimpse around his room and realize he’s a space nerd—there’s a poster about Saturn on his wall. “I didn’t think you were into space. You seem a little too air-headed for that.”

“Hey!” he pouts, “you don’t know me! I can be very smart!”

You snort, eyeing him in amusement. Except staring at him for too long means that you are forced to look at the hickey you left on his neck, almost like you were a raging, horny teenager last night and not an adult. You would be more embarrassed if one glimpse down at your chest didn’t tell you that he was even worse. 

“So…” you start awkwardly. 

“So…” he echoes. 

You don’t know where to take it from there. There’s a beat of silence before you say, “We’re good, right Phai?”

He softens, looking at you with those large, round eyes that house every shade of the sky and her beauty before he nods and murmurs, “Yeah. We’re always good.”

“Good,” you breathe, “I’m glad. I want us to be good.”

“Well,” he rubs his neck, “we are, in fact, good. So…yeah.”

In the end, you sheepishly turn around so he can get out of bed, find his scattered clothes and put them on, and leave, and you—once you’re certain he’s far enough in the kitchen and the faucet is running—scream into his pillow before slipping out of bed and putting on your own. You’re pleasantly surprised he doesn’t have only one pillow. But his sheets are navy blue, so you dock a few points for that. Not a good look.

He makes you breakfast before you leave. Something about sitting and sharing pancakes while he has tousled hair feels so natural you almost feel sick at the thought of leaving. But you tell yourself that he’s an easy friend to have and feel comfortable with, and force yourself up and to the door when the time inevitably comes. 

He sees you out with a soft, “See you later?”

“Yeah,” you hum, “later. Bye.”

“Bye.”

—————

You wish so badly that you could be an ideal individual, but you are as flawed as the rest of the humans you share planet Earth with.

You and Phainon fuck again. Sober, this time. Still as friends. Not by accident, or through the influence of alcohol, or by forced proximity, or by anything that you can use to excuse it. You can’t excuse it. It’s entirely an act of free will that you consented to—because he does take consent very seriously, you learn—and it starts to become abundantly clear that sex is beginning to get a little too frequent in your time together.

The first time it happened after the initial accidental night, he was over at your apartment helping you build your new desk. The old one was too small, and you needed an upgraded space badly. He spends the evening hammering and drilling pieces away and fitting them together, and like some cliche joke from the universe, when you slip on the instruction manual on the floor, he catches you as your face hovers dangerously close to his. A kiss later, and suddenly he’s fitting into you and drilling you instead of the wood. 

And then it starts to happen everywhere. 

Sometimes in the back of his car before he drops you off at home after class. Sometimes on your kitchen counter when you’re supposed to be washing dishes after he’s over for dinner to study. Sometimes after he’s got a bad exam grade to blow off some steam. Sometimes when you’re particularly stressed over a busy week with too many assignments due on the same day and too many hours of your part-time job to work. 

Every time it happens, you go back to acting like you always do afterward. Like it never even happened. Never mentioned, or questioned, or brought up. He never questions if something is shifting in your relationship, and you never bring it up. Sometimes, two people can have a physical relationship and still be friends and nothing more. It’s not impossible, and it’s not bad.

If anything, it makes you closer friends. You start to understand each other better. You talk more—really talk. No silly banter, or heated debate, or stressed-out vents. Just you, Phainon, the sheets that cover your bodies and a quiet room that lingers with the scent of sex.

He tells you about how much he misses his hometown. How small it is, and how everyone knows everyone. How leaving home and his young triplet sisters was the hardest thing he did, but a good degree and stable job is even harder to come by where he’s from. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity. 

And you tell him about your ex. About how sweet and nice he was. How badly he wanted you. How good he was at doing things right and reading you for what you craved. How to love you like you always wished. How to spend time with you without burning you out and depleting your social battery. How to know your ticks and know when he’s pushing your buttons too far and when a joke doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. How to make you feel seen. 

No man has ever loved you like that. None have cared to, either. Learning you is a lot of work—you have years and years of life and stories and feelings and fears and everything’s to share. Teaching them is a lot. Learning them is even more. 

You liked to think that boy from your past was a ticket to something good. Some better life for yourself where it’s not just you and yourself, and that’s it—a life where you were you and someone else cared to see it. Have it. Cherish it. Keep it. 

You don’t know how someone could pour in so much time, do everything first, want things all on their own, and still walk away and tell you that they just don’t feel the same anymore.

You think it’s just a man thing. Men bore easily. 

Phainon snorts at that. 

“They do have short attention spans,” he tells you. 

You smile tightly, humming as you blink back tears. “Or maybe I’m just boring.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he gasps dramatically, reaching over to swipe the tears like it’s always been his job to—it feels so natural when he does it. “You’re not boring! You’re at least a step up from boring because boring is Professor Anaxa, and god knows what he drones on about.” 

“Gee,” you huff, but the tears are easier to subside when it’s him. They’re gone quickly like a fleeting reminder that sorrow exists but shooed away like they’re unwelcome when he’s around. He’s around more and more these days. “Thanks. I’m glad to be just a step up from boring. Maybe in a year or so, I’ll be two steps up from boring.”

“Nothing is ever impossible,” he winks. “Some day, with enough hard work and determination, you might even be three steps up.”

“You suck,” you giggle. 

He laughs, and the sound of his voice is enough to lull you to sleep. You sleep good next to him—always do.

—————

One thing you count on is that it’s always easy when it’s you and Phainon. Phainon and you. 

Just two people who exist with each other, and nothing else really needs to be thought out. You don’t worry about what you wear around him or how you look. He doesn’t care too much about what you’re doing or where you’re going. As long as it’s you and him, him and you, and nothing else—it’s okay. He’s good. He treats you good and makes you feel good, too. Inside and out. Physically and mentally. 

He might even be your best friend. You don’t know if you should tell him that—men get weird about definite titles like that. But then again, maybe not Phainon. He’s like an anomaly of sorts, sometimes. 

But you forget sometimes that Phainon was never hoping to just be friends. And you suppose letting him feel you come undone for him more than once is like dangling his desires right in front of his face because it all blows up on you very fast. 

Perfect one second, like the calm before the storm, and a disaster zone the next, leaving you no time to evacuate before the tornado has hit and done its damage. 

“Mydei wants to come with us to try that new cafe you mentioned,” Phainon hums, watching in sheepish amusement as you sigh and mutter under your breath while picking up his dirty socks from the couch and tossing them across the room. (Men are all the same, aren’t they?) “He said something about there being a pomegranate beverage he wants to try.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug, slumping onto his couch, “if he doesn’t find it awkward, then I don’t either.”

“Why would he find it awkward?” he looks at you in bewilderment.

“I think he’d have to be oblivious to miss the way I was flirting with him,” you huff out a snort, “I don’t think most men jump at the opportunity to hang out with a girl they ignored advances of, but maybe he’s just too passionate about pomegranate to care.”

Everything feels like it pauses as soon as the words come out. You thought he’d known this whole time—you could have sworn he’d known. How would Mydei have never mentioned it to him? Aren’t they best friends? Don’t men at least tell their friends when a girl is hitting on them regularly in passing? Is Mydei really that bad at giving life updates, or is he more clueless than you gave him credit for when it comes to romantic interaction? 

Nothing makes sense, and you’re not entirely sure about anything. The only thing you are sure about is that Phainon is staring at you like you’ve been disloyal to the worst degree. 

“You liked Mydei?” he asks in hurt, staring at you with those god-awful puppy eyes. You feel like you kicked one, too, with the way he stares at you. 

“W-well, no,” you stutter, “I mean, yes—but like…not really, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” he shakes his head, “you’re not making any sense.”

“I liked him for a very short time,” you say quickly, “like…like a small crush, you know? He was attractive, and I am not immune to an attractive man, so it just…b-but it never lasted for long!”

“Did you still like him when we got together?” he asks quietly. Got together—you physically have to stop yourself from flinching at those words. Some part of you feels a little bit bad that he sounds so wounded, but the other part of you feels like this is all so absurd. That he’s starting to get worked up over nothing. He has to know you were never together—you never did anything that implies two people that are…together. It’s always been a good fuck here and there, and that’s what you kept it as strictly. 

(Distantly, your mind gnaws at you and screams that two people who just fuck and nothing else do not do the things that you and Phainon do. Sure, you were friends first, but two people who draw the line at sex don’t seek each other to FaceTime until three am, and they don’t bring each other soup when they’re sick, and they don’t hold each other when they cry, and they don’t, under any circumstances, tell each other about their deepest insecurities that they’ve never voiced before about shoddy exes who ruined their ability to trust and feel loved. You can’t be the closest people in your lives and just have sex—but your mind has never been your number one supporter, so you shove the voice down.)

“No,” you admit, and for a second, his shoulders sag in relief. Like he doesn’t care or feel threatened that you liked his friend as long as it didn’t bleed into your time together—and that’s when you start to wonder if Phainon is too good for you. Too kind and genuine in a way that is not dangerous. Too sweet in a way that doesn’t slowly kill you like poison but just gives you something to look forward to. Maybe he’s a good one—a good guy who is just good and nothing else. Still, you kill his heart anyway with a harsh blow to his chest as you add, “I didn’t like anyone when we started getting physical. And I still don’t, Phainon.”

Getting physical. Whatever that means. You say it like it puts some distance between the sex you have and intimacy. You say it like it rationalizes everything you do with him—you get physical, which is only human nature, and in the mix, if you develop a good, long-standing friendship, then there is nothing wrong with that. 

But are you really okay with just friends? Yes. You are. Are you sure about that? Absolutely. You don’t seem so convinced. This is a positive, for sure, one hundred percent true reality. Phainon is just a friend. You’re shooting yourself in the foot. 

You force yourself to stop arguing with yourself when you notice the way his eyes flash at the words: still don’t. He processes the words that you still don’t like anyone, and the look in his eyes is devastating. Betrayal. Confusion. Hurt. Anger. Something else that you don’t quite understand, but it makes you filled dreadfully to the brim with unease. 

“Every time we’ve been together has just been physical to you?” he asks quietly, croaking out the words as if they’re acrid on his tongue and taste awful. “You’re lying.”

“I thought I made it very clear we were just friends, and I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” you furrow your brows, “you can’t act like I’ve been stringing you along—”

“Before we started, fucking, sure! But I thought it was pretty mutually clear we were slowly turning romantic when you willingly took my dick down your throat every now and then.”

“We’ve never had a ‘hey, what are we?’ discussion,” you cry exasperatedly, throwing your hands up as though this is all…so, so, so absurd—and for a second, you feel like it is. You made it clear that you weren’t trying to date. Not him, not anybody. Sure, that silly blonde friend of his clouded your judgment for a bit, but that was never more than a phase. “Don’t you think it was a red flag to never discuss what we are or what we’re doing if we were getting romantic?”

He falters. Something in his face makes him look so unrecognizable. So fragile and knocked down a peg that you’ve never seen from him. And something about the way he looks at you makes you almost feel like he doesn't recognize you. 

“I thought you were avoiding the conversation on purpose,” he whispers, voice cracking just as he says: you. “I thought…I thought you were just nervous about labels after everything from your last…” he clears his throat, like even mentioning the word relationship kills him, “and…and that I was just waiting for you to be more comfortable…”

You don’t know what to say. And frankly, nothing seems like it’ll make him feel better. He’s fighting the trembling of his lips and blinking back the moisture in his eyes like all he has left in his control is to not shed tears in front of you. 

You extend him that much grace. (Men don’t like being vulnerable, you reason. They hate showing emotions.)

“Phainon, I think I should go,” you murmur softly.

“You want to leave?” he asks, gutted. It’s got two meanings—you know that. You know exactly what he’s asking.

Everything feels wrong when you say, “Yes,” through a soft whisper, “I do.” But you still don’t take it back.

And nothing feels right when he lets out a watery chuckle and lets the first few tears slip. “Well, you know where the door is,” he spits.

He doesn’t walk you out. You’re not sure why that feels so heavy—it’s not because you’re guilty. You know that. It’s something else, and you can’t quite understand it. 

────────────────────────

LESSON THREE: NOT ALL MEN. SURE, MOST HAVE A VERY BAD STREAK, BUT NEVER THE WHITE-HAIRED AND BLUE-EYED FREAK!

You barely last two weeks before you call Phainon. 

At first, you thought being without who is maybe your closest friend at the moment was just eating away at you, and that’s why you missed him. You threw yourself into your social circles, making plans left and right to fill that gaping hole of his presence. It didn’t work. 

And then it slowly starts to click in place. 

Your friends send you a picture of your ex’s new fling, calling him an asshole and how she’s too pretty to be his next victim. You don’t feel even the slightest bit jealous or hollow. In fact, you’re bored by the news—you have more pressing matters. 

Then, you start to see what feels like fucking propaganda for romance everywhere. Every social media timeline is filled with some stupid, cheesy, cringe trend that rubs in your face how painfully in love two people are. You get ads for fucking wedding rings. Your friends are all magically starting to get out of the talking phases and actually have something exclusive and official. Your old high school friends are getting engaged, and invitations are coming in. You’ve RSVP’d one in spring and two in fall already. 

Everywhere you look, it’s something that feels like the universe is promoting a relationship in your face as if it’s a poorly disguised paid sponsorship by some celebrity online, and all you want to do is throw a rock at the sky and hope it lands on whatever divine being is playing tricks on you straight in the face. 

But it slowly becomes clearer and clearer why it unsettles you so much. Why it all makes you bitter and annoyed and tired and…and sad. You’re sad. And it’s because you miss Phainon, and every couple reminds you of the hurt you caused him and why it’s your fault he’s still not in your life. Because you wanted your cake and to eat it, too. Even if it meant taking advantage of his feelings and the heart he didn’t even bother wearing on his sleeve. He just pinned it to yours and let you wear it. 

So you call him. When that doesn’t work, and you get sent to voicemail, you go straight to his apartment. You knock on his door incessantly for two minutes straight (you know he’s home—his car is there) before he opens the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes despite it being three in the afternoon. 

“Mydei, can you at least come bother me to eat a little later in the da—oh.”

He notices you and quickly straightens up, smoothing out his wrinkled t-shirt as best as he can and fixing his ruffled hair (that doesn’t do much but ruffle more) as he looks at you with what is his best attempt at a nonchalant look and clears his throat. “Yes?”

“Hi,” you say nervously, “how are you?” (What else do you say? You’re at a loss.)

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs casually, “nursing a broken heart and trying to integrate back into society as a functioning member. The usual. How about you?”

You flinch at his tone, at the way it’s so clipped yet so emotional at the same time. 

“I called earlier—”

“I know. I ignored that, by the way, if that wasn’t clear,” he says as if being petty and angry is the only thing he has left. (It might just be, and you certainly won’t blame him for it.)

“I know,” you whisper, “but I still wanted to talk. And see you. Which I know I don’t deserve, but I guess I’m clearly not perfect, huh?” you shrug softly, giving him a sad smile. 

“Well,” he says flatly, “you came all this way, and I’ve already opened the door. Might as well say the groundbreaking thing you came to say.”

When Phainon is hurt is the only time he does not know how to be kind. He spends so much time not hurting others, not letting them feel the pain of their feelings being overlooked, that he doesn’t quite know how to handle it. How to stomach that, yes, there are hurt people in this world, and, yes, they do the hurting, too. And he might fall victim to it. And he might even be the cause of someone else’s hurt, too, intentional or not. 

He’s not good at processing pain. He’s too good of a guy to ever have to dwell on how badly his actions have impacted someone. Not because he’s perfect but because he’s gentle enough by nature to avoid the necessity of it while he can. 

“I’m sorry,” you say earnestly. Because you are. You are. “I knew you were interested early on, and having sex as often as we did was leading you on whether I meant to or not, and you got hurt because of it, so I’m sor—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. 

You blanch. “What?” you ask, mildly frustrated. He doesn’t have to forgive you, but it’s certainly an honest apology. “You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to. But I just felt it was right to tell you that I—”

“I’m not upset because you don’t like me or you that led me on,” he interrupts, making you blink in confusion. He looks at you for a moment—really looks at you, and before you can say anything, he lets out another disbelieving chuckle. “You still don’t get it, do you? Do you even understand it yourself—why you’re even here?”

“To apologize, of course—”

“No.” 

He says it so seriously. 

Phainon is hardly ever so serious. It’s what you always liked about him, even if you hated to admit it. He’s good at taking serious matters and making them feel like they’re not so serious. Not in a bad way—he’s just good at making them feel less soul-crushing with that carefree smile and those light-hearted words. He comforts you without ever letting you feel the shame of needing comfort. It’s nice.

You forget that even he is capable of being solemn. 

“No one apologizes for breaking someone’s heart unless it breaks theirs too—do you see that? Do you see that you care? I’m not upset that you don’t care about me or that you don’t feel the same. That would be easy to move on from. It kills me because you do—you care, and you feel exactly the way I do, and you just won’t admit it—do you know how much that sucks?”

You swallow thickly. It’s getting to that dangerous territory. That fragile, vulnerable place in your mind that you don’t like because then you have to admit that, yes, maybe you fucking fell hard and crashed onto the ground for Phainon. Asphalt and rocks still digging into your arms with raw and bleeding skin. Yes, maybe he’s that nice, kind, genuine guy who you fell for and who has no other motives than to spend his time being nice and genuine to you. And maybe, if you’d met him sooner and not later, you could have loved him and not some other asshole in disguise, pretending to parade around like a good man, like some wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

Maybe that would have saved you the constant fear of it inevitably going all wrong—of giving and giving and giving, and one day, even that’s not enough, and someone doesn’t even want to take from you anymore. That one day, someone doesn’t even find you worth taking advantage of. 

That stings.

It’s this twisted sort of rejection you can’t handle. This sickening sort of feeling makes you think it’s better to be needed for selfish reasons than to be discarded like a useless, meaningless waste of time. And Phainon wouldn’t take advantage of you, right? He’s too nice of a guy—he’d reel you in, make you think he wants you so, so badly, and then when he doesn’t, he’ll play that nice guy trick again and make you think he’s doing you a favor by letting you go. Letting you go so you’re not being used by making it known you’re unwanted and not enough. 

As if he didn’t spend so much time making you want him. Condition you into thinking being loved by him was such a treasure. Convince you into needing the devotion he hands so easily for free. 

But you’re wrong, aren’t you? Maybe he’s not like that at all—maybe he’s just a nice guy because he really is good. Maybe he’s not nice because he needs to be to get what he wants. Maybe he’s nice because he wants to be, and it earns him what he wants the honorable way. Maybe you’ve fallen for Phainon, and maybe you were wrong about that being a bad thing. And maybe you just really fucking hate to admit when you’re wrong. (Your prefrontal cortex is still developing, after all. The men of your past are not very helpful to that slow development.)

“I don’t know how I feel anymore,” you whisper, tears littering your eyes. And god, you feel like a witch—using those sad, doe eyes with the wet, teary gaze that you know will soften him up like butter. Because he does. Even if you don’t do it on purpose, it makes sure he softens right up in front of your face because he hates the sight of your sadness being so tangible that he can feel it on the pad of his thumb in the form of a wet, warm rivulet. 

Like clockwork, he wipes the tears and sighs, and you let out a shaky breath. 

“I don’t know how I feel about anything because every time I think my feelings are right, they’re fucking wrong,” you sob, “I am always wrong, and I don’t know how to stop being wrong.”

His arms wrap around you and pull you close, pressing your body flush against that sturdy chest that feels like a brick wall—strong enough to keep you away from all the harm and cruelty of the world around you as long as he stands in front of you. Sometimes, you think that’s all it takes. Just Phainon standing there, and that’s it. That’s it to be okay. 

“You can only stop being wrong once you’re right,” he hums, giving you a sad, innocent little smile, “isn’t that the whole point of it all? To find the person who’s right? There’s gotta be a few wrong answers here and there, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want to keep crying over the wrong answers,” you sniffle, “it’s dehydrating me.”

He laughs. It sounds good. It feels good, too, with the way his chest rumbles against you. He always does. Everything about him is just good. The way he smells, and feels, and sounds, and just is. Phainon is just good. You like just good—no catches, no curveballs, no fine print. Just good. 

“Hey,” he tilts your face up and presses his forehead to yours, wiping your tears valiantly still, even as they keep coming. And he’s hurt. You did that—you hurt him. But he seems more focused on the fact that your heart is crumbling than his own. “I can’t promise you won’t ever cry because of me—I’m not always the brightest, okay? But I can promise that I’m going to stay and wipe every last tear if I mess up. And then I’m going to keep staying. I will always stay so I can wipe the next round of tears and hydrate you again for your troubles. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. It doesn’t have to be perfect, yeah?”

“You don’t want it to be?” you snivel, “you seem like the type to hopelessly daydream about perfect romances with not much luck.”

“I’m going to let that dig slide because you are emotional right now, and we all say things we don’t mean when we’re emotional,” he rubs your back, rocking you slowly from side to side. 

And…well, you think you’re wrong. About him. About Phainon and now he’s nice in a way that’s too nice and too good to be true. You’re wrong because he’s just nice, and it’s just nice enough that it’s good, not devious—and for once, just this once, you don’t mind being wrong.

Not if it’s for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “for being confused and scared and unable to realize I care about you. I will get some help or something to be a functioning member of society.”

“Well, when you find help, hook me up,” he snorts, “because I need it, too. You’ve done a number on me.”

You’re both laughing. And then, at some point, you’re both kissing. His lips are on yours, and yours are on his, and it’s just a mix of each other that feels less like it’s right and more like nothing about it was ever wrong in the first place. Sometimes, it doesn’t have to be right as long as it’s just not wrong. Sometimes, that’s enough to keep things going. Sometimes, they become right along the way, all on their own. 

You cup his cheeks, making him pause his assault on your lips against his will as he lets out a soft noise of protest deep in his throat. You’ll fall hopelessly harder for him because of that later—first, you have more pressing matters. 

“I’m serious,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do care about you—so much that it scares me. I care about you and I promise this time I’m going to stay and keep caring. So be ready.”

“I’m ready,” he smiles, all wobbly lips and a shaky voice and trembling fingertips. They dig into your hips as his head buries into your neck, and you hold him—latch onto him and clutch his shirt because feeling him is all that ever felt good, and you don’t think you can stomach letting it go a second time. “I am so ready to be the only thing you care about.”

“Maybe not the only thing—”

“Did you hear that? That weird crack sound? That’s the sound of my heart breaking a second time. Any more, and I’ll be collecting shards off the floor.”

“C’mere loser,” you laugh, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into a hard, deliberate kiss that knocks the wind out of both of you. It makes your stomach twist and form knots and there’s this weird tickle in your chest that feels like you’re about to implode. Phainon is so good at that—at making you feel so, so unwell but well at the same time. You’re sick and nauseous from how badly you want him, but nothing else feels right until you have him. 

So you wrap your arms around him, pressing nearer, closer, harder up against him and kissing him until both of you are gasping for breath in between every press of your mouths together. Your hands find his hair, carding through it wildly and pulling on the strands when he nips at your lips, and when he groans into your mouth at a particularly harsh tug, you know it’s starting to become a scene that should not be happening at his front door where anyone can pass by.  

“Inside?” he pants, pulling away for just long enough to say the word.

You kiss him hard once more, making him groan again before you decide that, yes, it probably needs to move indoors. “Inside,” you breathe, labored and unsteady, “now—now, please.”

“Whatever you want,” he chuckles, “you don’t have to beg. You always get what you want—don’t I always give it to you?”

“Then quit talking and give it to me.”

That shuts him up really fast. With a dark glint in his eyes, he pulls you in, closing the door swiftly and pressing you against it. You’re caged—nothing but him, you, and the throbbing ache between your legs that seems to be a common denominator between the two of you. 

“I want you so bad,” he groans, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent along your sweet, delicate skin, “want you so bad I never want you gone. Don’t ever leave.”

“I won’t,” you gasp as he bites—and it’s a little hard. A little mean almost, but he kisses it better with a soft peck afterward that you forgive him on the spot and melt. “I won’t.”

“Good,” he hums, nose trailing along the column of your neck before he drags it along your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth before he murmurs, “but I’ll make it hard to walk away this time just for safe measures.”

It feels like a literal and metaphorical promise. Before you can even respond to his cheekiness, he has your mouth hostage again—kissing and groaning into it enough that you have no choice but to soften and become pliant under him. You swallow up his sounds as the bulge in his pants presses against your own heat, the slow, desperate pressure of him grinding against you, making you shiver against the door. 

Good—he always feels so good. Everything about Phainon is always so damn good. 

“Feel that?” he croons, gasping as you roll your hips in tandem with his own movements, “feel how hard I am for you? You’re telling me anyone else will want you this bad? No one. I’m it for you. I’m not giving you up. Ever.”

His voice is a low, almost dangerous promise—and if you weren’t dripping at your core from the sound of him alone, you’d be less than inclined to admit that you like the sound of that. But you do, don’t you? You want him to want you so badly, so desperately, that the thought of letting you go makes him his own worst enemy. And he does, doesn’t he? He wants you so badly that you’re almost scared. 

But you like it. Love it, even. You fucking love that he needs you, and you want him to need you so badly he might just die without you. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, lifting the bottom of his shirt up to his shoulders. He lets go just long enough to pull his arms up and let you take it off of him, tossing it to the ground before your fingers run your nails along the hard plane of his abs. He shivers, letting out a soft, barely-there sound at the feeling. “Don’t let me go. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, princess,” he grins. Phainon leans in again, kissing you impatiently like being away from you for that short period of time was enough to have him on edge. Maybe it does because he only melts and relaxes when his lips are against yours again. His fingers trail to the edge of your pants, toying with the waistband as you quiver at the feeling of his rough fingertips rubbing against the skin of your belly. 

“Need you,” you whine.

“You got me,” he reassures, “just wanna take my time, yeah? You can handle that, can’t you? Let me have a little fun with you so I cheer up before I fuck you right against this door?”

You whimper. He’s mean sometimes, too. He’s so, so nice, but sometimes, it’s like a switch flips, and he’s mean. Not cruel—just teasingly mean to keep you on your toes and have you falling apart for him. It’s so mean, but it’s so careful and thoughtful and meant just for you—like he thinks only about you. 

“Just hold onto me, okay, baby?” he asks gently, pecking your lips, “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

Before you can even ask what that means, he drops down to his knees, spreading yours and pulling your pants and underwear down in one go, helping them off your legs as they get thrown somewhere in the back along with his shirt. You realize exactly why you need to hold on as soon as a finger prods your entrance, splitting your folds open as he peers into them and hums at the way you’re wet and slick. You gasp, grabbing onto the nearest thing—which happens to be his hair as he chuckles. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, “I hardly did anything yet. But don’t worry, you can pull if you need—I don’t mind.”

Just like that, his mouth is between the apex of your thighs, tongue tracing your sweet, precious little clit before he licks a stripe along your folds, humming against your cunt and sending vibrations as you mewl at the feeling. 

“Ph-Painon…fuck—”

He hooks a leg over his shoulder, letting you half sit on him as he props you up and devours you. Devours you like you were the only thing on his mind. Like he was starved and dying in this apartment, and the only thing to sustain him is you. His tongue dips past your folds and fucks into you before pulling away just as quickly and flicking over your clit. Two fingers gently prod at your entrance this time—only they don’t tease you. No, instead, they fill you up and slip into you as far as they go, curling into a sweet, sweet spot in your walls that has your knees wobbling. 

You think you will fall for a moment. You think holding onto his hair and tugging him so harshly is not going to keep you steady, and the weight he takes as he props you up on a shoulder, is not going to hold you.

But he makes good on his promise. He doesn’t let you fall or slip for even a fraction, even as your legs get weaker and your orgasm draws nearer. 

“‘M close, Phai—s-so close,” you whimper. 

He pulls away. With a smug, stupid little grin, he looks up at you as you stare down in disbelief. “Say you care about me.”

“What is wrong with you—”

“Ah ah, that’s not what the magic words are!”

“Phainon—”

“That’s not a bad guess, but still not the right answer!”

“Fucking hell,” you hiss, “I care about you, asshole.”

“A little more aggressive than necessary, but I will accept it,” he hums, rewarding you with a soft kiss to your clit. “Now tell me you know I care about you. That I want you, and I want to stay.” 

“Phainon,” you plead, “please, can’t we do this later?”

“No,” he says firmly, “because then it’s just getting physical, and I am not getting physical. I am getting intimate. Tell me what I want to hear so there’s no mistaking things.”

He’s throwing your words right back at your face. And the only way you’re going to get what you want is if you own up to them, even if it’s against your will. So you do. With an exasperated sigh, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I know you care about me,” you say impatiently, “I know you care, and you want me, and you want to stay, and god knows you’re not good at leaving me alone, so I guess I will just have to get used to you.”

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, giving your clit one more kiss before he’s back to lapping at your cunt like he’s parched. Your slick coats his chin and makes his skin glisten as he traces your clit with his tongue, curling his fingers just right into your heat. They brush against that spot again—he has it perfectly memorized, and just like that, you fall apart, gushing around his fingers and coating his lips with even more of your essence. 

“Fuck,” you sob, grinding against his face as you ride out the shockwaves of pleasure, feeling him groan against you right where you need him. 

He lets you stay like that for just a moment, resting half your weight on his shoulder and half your weight on one leg before he abruptly stands and grabs your waist, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around his hips. You’ve done this before—at that point, you’d considered it just any other step to getting physical with someone. 

Now, you realize you were beyond oblivious to how much you needed it to only be him you were doing all these motions with. It almost feels silly. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he grins.

“What?”

“I don’t want you against the door anymore. I want you on the bed—my bed. And you’re staying there, and you’re going to like it.”

You laugh, breaking into a fit of giggles as he jogs over to his room with you in his arms. And when he drops you unceremoniously only to the bed, flopping on top of you and attacking your neck with kisses, you can’t help but break into another fit of giggles, feeling his playful nibbles and licks against your skin. It feels so easy. So natural. Only with Phainon, you realize. Only ever with Phainon. 

“Hi,” you breathe when his forehead presses to yours. 

He gives you a bright, toothy grin, murmuring, “Hi, yourself, pretty.”

And then he's kissing you again. His lips are soft and slow this time around. Pressing against your mouth, slotting into the space like it’s his to fit into—and it is. It’s always been his, whether you were willing to admit it or not. His tongue glides against yours languidly, no rush or impatience or desperation like usual. This time, he kisses you like you’re his and always have been—like he knows what you taste and feel like, and he knows it’s always been his and always will be. He kisses you like he’s reminding you of it, one painstakingly slow second at a time. 

“You broke my fucking heart,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice raw and vulnerable but never not soft, “you know that? You broke my fucking heart.”

Your hand presses against his chest, feeling the erratic beating of it under your palm as you whisper, “Seems like it’s working perfectly well to me.”

He chuckles at that. Lets out another toothy grin before he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s cute and precious and so fucking sweet—he sounds just like what he is. Tooth rotting sweet.

“You’re always so smart with your words,” he drawls, pressing wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

One hand slowly pulls your shirt up, inch by inch, before you slowly help him take it off of you. The bra comes off next, and you’re bare—under him as nothing else but his. Nothing else that covers or keeps what’s his away from him. 

And when you eye his pants with a petulant, pouty look, he chuckles before throwing you an amused look as he takes them off slowly, not taking his eyes off of you.

You and Phainon have fucked. But you’ve never been intimate—not by the real standards, at least. The proper kind where you take the time to really take in each other’s bodies, commit each dip and curve to memory, know it inside out and like the back of your hand. Where that scar starts and ends from his childhood shenanigans, where your little moles scatter along your body in hidden crevices. And when he slowly frees his cock, and you can really stare without having to tell yourself you shouldn't, you take a good look. 

You take a good look at the flush of his pretty cock—pretty, just like the rest of him. A nice, soft, muted pink at the tip that oozes with the beginnings of pre cum, and it’s sensitive as it twitches under your delicate thumb when you smear the dribbling essence along the head of his cock. 

“Mmh,” he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, fluttering his eyes closed and panting as you touch him. Feel him. Want him. 

You finally want him, and it’s almost enough to make him spill into your hand alone. But he forces himself to composure, grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head—and then goes the other. He holds them in place with one large hand, watching as you squirm under him impatiently. 

“No touching,” he whispers, “first, I’m gonna teach you not to take me for granted. Then you’ll never want to take your hands off of me.”

“If you just ask me nicely, I’ll never take my hands off of you,” you offer. 

He laughs, boyish and charming and so fucking smooth, you feel something flutter at the base of your stomach. Something stirring in your guts and twisting them inside out in anticipation. “Persuasive,” he hums, “but I still have to teach you not to take me for granted.”

When the tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, your wrists struggle against his hands to break free. You need to feel him—to know he’s there against you and real. To feel his hair and tug and hear him groan in response. To scratch along his back and feel his warm, damp skin, the way he shivers under the pain and likes it. To pull him closer and feel him practically melt against you at the gesture. 

You want to feel him. Because you need to know he’s yours. And you never, ever want to take for granted Phainon again. Your Phainon. The nice, sweet, gentle boy who stole your charger for a day to get your number. Who knew before you knew, long before you were ever willing to know, that he would love you. Even when you didn’t want to, he did it from a distance. And when he thought you finally would, that you’d finally let it happen, he still did it quietly, stripped of labels and titles even though he wanted to announce it to the world. 

For you. Everything was always for you. 

“Please, Phai,” you plead, “please, please, please—let me touch you.”

“Yeah? You want that, huh?” he grins, pretending to think for a moment before he hums, “tell me why.”

“So I can feel you and know you’re mine,” you lean up and breathe against his ear, “don’t you want to be mine?”

It’s a silly question. It’s all he’s ever wanted, so he gives it to you easily. Lets your hands go and lets them wander over his sculpted body as he sinks deeper into you—no more taking his sweet time to draw out the teasing. He’s impatient now—just as impatient as you. Maybe even more. He’s been waiting longer than you have to make this happen. To take you and make you his and have you admit that he’s yours, too. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he sinks the final few inches of this thick, girthy length, “fuck you’re so fucking tight. You feel that? Feel me? How deep I am?”

“Yes,” you mewl, “yes—so deep. F-feel so full. You feel so good.”

He groans at that, pulling out almost completely before slamming his hips into yours, cock burying deep into you and burying to the hilt. The tip of his sensitive length kisses against that sweet, delicate spot against your walls—your spot that he knows and memorizes so easily. 

He knows you. Knows your body. He’s felt it so many times under him and made it react for him the way he wants, but finally—fucking finally, it reacts to him and only him. He knows it’s him and only him. Only ever will be if he has anything to say about it. 

“God, you drive me insane. So insane, you know that?” he grunts, rolling his hips hard and fast and drilling into you like he has something to prove. Every slam of his hips and every brush of his cock along your sensitive folds makes you pull him closer, kissing him hungrily—desperately. So needy. 

You need him. You’ve always needed this—someone to want you and need you and find you worth it to stay. How could you think Phainon didn’t want to stay when he was so clearly happy with just pieces of you because you didn’t want to give the full of you? When he stayed and stayed and stayed and happily took the little shards you dropped, even if they were sharp, and cut his fingers because they were pieces of you. When he was just happy to have you whichever way you let him because it was you. 

All he wanted was you. You get that now. You’re not going to forget. 

“‘M close,” you pant, breathing against his mouth, “g-gonna cum. With me…with me, please.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want, princess,” he groans. 

His hand moves to find your clit, rubbing quick circles as his own pace quickens, and you can feel the telltale signs that both of you are not going to last much longer. He lets out a particularly deep, sharp thrust—and you’re gone. 

Plummeting off the edge in a hazy fall. You mewl his name, chanting it over and over and over as your walls constrict around him tightly. Spasm around him uncontrollably. And your fall coaxes him into his own. He falls into his release with a soft, drawn-out moan of your name, hot, thick seed filling you up through quick ropes of cum. His cock twitches with each rope, painting your insides white with him. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “so fucking good—you were made for me. Only me. Knew…knew you were perfect for me since the first day.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him as close as he can get without physically merging into your bones. His head tucks into your neck, and you both ride out the aftershocks of your highs. You feel him breathe, and he listens to your soft breaths, and it’s just you and Phainon. Phainon and you.

It always has been.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbles tiredly after a while, sleepy words said through a petulant warning. 

You chuckle, kissing his sweaty forehead as you promise, “I won’t.”

“Good. Won’t let you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Your own eyes start to grow heavy with exhaustion, slowly fluttering closed until—

“Who’s that?” you look at him in confusion as you hear an incessant knocking on the door. 

He chuckles sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “Ah,” he sighs, “right. That’s…that’s just Mydei. He’s coming to make sure I eat instead of starving to death from sadness.”

You blink, and then you throw your head back, laughing loudly. He watches you for a moment, smiling softly at the sound of you flooding his space. “You’re hopeless, Phainon.”

“Am not!”

“Go tell Mydei to leave and that you’re alive.”

“...Okay.”

Idk what this is. It’s 10k words of pure babbling and hardly a single coherent thought. I’m sorry dfksksjr this isn’t my best work but . I needed to get him out of my system

I also think writing a reader that is younger than me and navigates life and its challenges through a less mature and experienced lens was a fun project. She is not perfect but she is certainly a human who is trying her best and wants to be loved and I think that’s endearing

[leiaham]

First Post!

I deleted my old tumblr because... man idk why it was covid-times and the prefrontal cortex was not in the room with us!! Anyways, I was reminded by my lovely friend @repecca that tumblr exists, and that some of my work has been going around on here, so I decided to post some of my work up officially! Starting off with my most notable (?) work to date, here's my LOTR: The Middle Kingdom Project. Now, it's been over a year since I posted this, and at the time I was... really searchingfor myself artistically, and I decided to go all in on something that I'd been ruminating on for a long time.

So, hello, again. I'm Leia. I do visual development/BG design, and I'm also a writer of things. I love fantasy and transformative work. It's nice to meet you.

[ohtobeleah]

Young At Age, Old In Heart // Jack Abbot

Prologue: calm before the storm.

Summary: Jack Abbots unlikely affinity for the younger PT down at the VA starts to really spiral out of control when she’s brought in during a mass casualty event.

Warnings: 18+ content. Gun violence. Gun violence victims. Slow burn romance. Jack Abbot x F!reader. Age Gap! Older male x younger female. Mature content and themes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Author Note: I’m trying to allow myself to enjoy the smaller things in life that bring me joy so here we are…ironically concocting some of the most gut wrenching whump you and I both have ever read. But for now…enjoy this slow burn prologue.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough.”

Dr. Jack Abbot…wasn’t expecting to see the new hire from down at the VA, with a patient in one of the examination rooms, the Pitt never seemed to have enough off. He caught the sound of your laugh, a mix of ‘this isn’t happening’ and ‘unbelievable’, peppered the pitch at which you let your laughter echo off the walls. Jack goes there on an infrequent basis, to the VA, that is, mainly when the nightmares get too out of control.

You’ve got this quick wit about you that the golden oldies love. The banter, the big personality. The way you show up and lead the room with nothing but a little conviction.

And now here you are…why were you here so early? And why were you wearing his jumper like it belonged to you?

“Hi!” Jack hears your voice as he makes his way across the Emergency Room with blinders to get to you. That first memory of you meeting played in the frontal cortex of Jack’s mind—all the while he watched you listen and take in all the Dr, you couldn’t remember her name, had to say. “I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet,” You explain graciously. “I’m Y/n, one of the new Personal Trainers here.”

“I gotta say, you’re a lot better looking than Aaron over there,” The man who shook your hand said loud enough for your colleague to hear. “I’m—“Before Jack could introduce himself to you, Aaron was shouting across the small but impactful space.

“Hey! It’s my old man, thought you fell off the perch for a second there, but I guess we aren’t that lucky?” Aaron teased as he took slow steps of confidence towards Jack. He could only begin to imagine what you were thinking after hearing such a welcome.

“Luck hasn’t got anything to do with it, and I’ll tell you that for free my brother—“ Jack reciprocated the friendly fire “How’s your mother anyway? She still call my name in her sleep—*oof*”

“Don’t mind the talking corpse in early-stage rigour mortis, Y/n,” Aaron sighed after his softly jabbed Jack in the gut. “That’s our boy Abbot, Dr. Jack Abbot, neighbour, friend and legend in and outta the combat zone.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mind me,” Jack coughed as he landed a hand on your colleague’s shoulder. He faked instability like he was trying to get a rise out of you. “Aaron here has one testicle, but–”

Okay, easy pops,” Aaron conceded to the ribbing event he’d started. “Jack here works down at the Pitt, stops by from time to time when he has some spare time, comes for a workout.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Jack,” You confirmed with a nod and a smile.

“You’ve got Y/n today, and please don’t fall victim to the cutiesy, I’m just a girl, innocence, she’s like a Venus fly trap.” Aaron turned his sights on you as his next victim. “But she goes alright, keeps the old vets in check.”

“Jack is just fine,” Jack smiled at you as you puffed your chest a little, living in the moment of the slightly backhanded compliment from Aaron.

“I think I’m gonna stick with Dr. Jack.” You left it at a wink, a small but telling gesture that Jack wasn’t too taken aback by. He gravitated towards flirtatious banter…

Because at his very core, Jack Abbot was a flirt. He was the flirt.

Jack had never been so perplexed before in the context of someone’s presence. Your smile was like a drug of sorts, like he was getting a sort of morphine straight to his veins whenever your lips curled up into a wide, bright curl.

The way you conducted yourself through the class. The energy, the passion that Jack could see so clearly. You were like a sort of espresso, a beautiful change in his mundane routine. One that he wanted to change somewhat. That’s why he was here to begin with.

The VA was a safe place. A community of people who may not have shared the same history…but understood the language.

“What are you doing in my E.R.?” Jack spoke calmly but firmly. Like he knew clarity was his best friend.

His voice sounded like a melodious symphony. Something you could listen to with intent all day long.

“Dr. Jack,” You smiled at the man who’d become…something, to you. “Danny here had a bit of a fall earlier this morning and I have a bad habit of giving these guys my phone number incase of emergencies,” You explained with care as you made sure your client and valued friend was comfortable. “Luckily, there’s nothing too serious that can’t be handled, right Danny?”

“Awful shame I didn’t catch the two of you sooner though,” Jack shrugged as he moved effortlessly around the room to get closer to you. Doing so in a way that wasn’t advertently obvious. You caught on straight away, watching him with every move he made. “My shifts just ended.”

“Y/n was just keeping me company till my sister could get here,” Danny explained as he sat with oxygen and some heavy duty pain killers. “She’s free to leave.”

“I wasn’t offering taxi service if that’s what you thought, Dan,” Jack teased as he checked over all of Danny’s vitals just to be sure. Brushing past you ever so slightly as he did. “I was just saying I’m going home, so if you code I’m not coming back to save your ass.”

“Semper Fi,” You mumbled just enough for Jack to hear you. He’d told you once while on an early morning run that it was a code. A life motto for any Marine. ‘Always faithful’. You already knew what it meant when he told you. You’d worked down at the VA for long enough to pick up a little lingo between the corps.

But you liked when you got to play student sometimes.

The look you received as Jack looked back at you over his shoulder was one that could turn anyone who ran hot…to ice in under three seconds.

“You need a ride home?” He asked just for the sake of pleasantries, knowing you didn’t need a ride, but would in fact be seeing him later for breakfast. A date. A planned adult interaction outside of work and his normal routine. Jack was working on it. The mundane that was.

“I got it, Pops,” Again, the glare nearly made you dizzy. The stern eyebrows, the tight lipped expression. “I’ll catch you later, Danny, please look after yourself and say hello to Carole for me.”

“Will do darling, and thanks again for coming.” Danny expressed his gratitude.

“Owe me a fifty, but I guess I’ll allow it just this once, for you.” You flirted back lightheartedly like you always did. They needed it. It was like a drug to them. The attention, the praise.

You liked it too. Older men. An older man that was. The man who was looking at you with such fire behind his dusty eyes. Clouded with swayed judgment and lust for the younger woman standing in the doorway.

“I knew I was your favourite.” Danny’s voice brought you back to earth, but your eyes never peeled away from the glare you were receiving.

“Oh I dunno about that, That spots already been taken.” You replied, knowing Jack would assume you were implying that he was in fact your favourite…

****************************

“Hey,” There you were, sitting right on the hood of Jack's truck as he sauntered across the hospital car park. The beat up piece of crude barely worked, but he sure loved it like it was an extension of himself. “Did you know the cafe here is actually decent?”

“Ah—“ Jack teased as he made it over to where you had perched up against his 1998 Ford Falcon. “Well, if it isn’t miss independent herself!” Jack mocks you playfully while you hand him the coffee you brought on his behalf. “Driving yourself places, I’m so proud of you! Graduating from the booster seat, also, that’s my jumper you said you nev—“

“Shut up for a minute would you?” You interrupted with a soft chuckle. “I got you these,” the bouquet of natives you had kept beside you was now on full display. “Stop by his grave and say hello later today?”

Jack didn’t respond as he reached out for the flowers. All far beyond perfect. He didn’t respond right away. He simply studied every possible angle of the natives in their perfect world of order and precision.

“How did you know?” Was all he managed to offer up, the tone in his voice now laced with a heaviness of grief no amount of time could heal.

“You’ve mentioned him and I listen,” You knew it was a hard subject to discuss, but the death of Dr. Adamson would never be forgotten. “But if you want a more intimate answer then I’d say you’ve been more on edge than usual,” You knew Jack thought he had it under wraps. “Just figured it was that.” You shrugged understandingly.

“Did you ask me out for breakfast—“ Once again, before Jack could finish, you interrupted. Finishing his sentence for him.

“So you wouldn’t jump off the roof? Yeah—”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re crushing my sprint here.” Jack faked a pained heart as he bumped his shoulder into yours. The pair of you were still leaning against the bonnet of his beat up shot box.

“Plus, you’ve been using my Doordash account and I dunno what to tell you besides you need to add an extra therapy session into your schedule.”

“God I hate you.” Jack didn’t. If anything he was beginning to question if he maybe subscribed to the other side of the coin. Love. Jack wasn’t capable of love in this sort of capacity.

Was he?

“Keep lying to yourself Dr. Jack,“ You teased with a soft laugh. “It doesn’t work on me.”

Another moment of silence passed the two of you by as you took in the crisp Pittsburgh air. That early morning mist. The soft glow of a radiant sunrise on the horizon.

“Does physical therapy count?” Jack broke the silence with a gentle knock of his foot against yours.

“Your runner's leg is—oh,” Your mind had immediately gone to Jack's prosthetic. It was still at the VA. “You were trying to seduce me, weren’t you?”

“Come home with me, I’ll make you breakfast?” It was a genuine offer that you couldn’t refuse. By why? What was Jack thinking about?

“Catch?” You counted. “And don’t give me any bullshit Abbot!”

Jack could feel your index finger poking him in the chest. You still sat beside him, but you’d turned yourself towards him. “No bullshit—no catch, let’s just see where the day takes us.”

“I gotta take Tate to Pittfest later, but I’m sure I’ve got time to play into your delusional old man fantasies.” You replied playfully with a Cheshire like grin smeared across your face.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel young, don’t you?” Jack sighed, faking defeat.

“Standard issue daddy issues, my friend,” You shrugged, leaning in to leave a gentle kiss on Jack's scruff covered cheek. “Race ya.”

******************

[hashtagloveloses]

nanami kento is one of the hottest anime men of all time for SURE but it does make me laugh when people are like “whew love an older man omg daddy” because he’s 27 in JJK 0, 28 in the rest of the story. he had his quarter life crisis and went back to jujutsu after his prefrontal cortex finally snapped into place. he looks a little older and tired bc him and ijichi are supposed to be a commentary on how being a salaryman ages you but like. he’s a 28 year old man. he’s not daddy he’s just a Guy (a very nice and hot one) but like. a Guy.

same thing with Gojo. he’s 28 in JJK 0 and 29 in the rest of the story. he’s not even 30 please that’s not “daddy” that’s my twunk best friend who spends too much time at the gym and hasn’t unpacked his childhood trauma. “dad gojo” my brother in christ when he was taking care of megumi and tsumiki as kids he was a depressed gay guy in his late teens-early 20s who had just recently been politically radicalized. have you met a 20 year old guy in college. he is megumi’s annoying gay brother who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

[spaloonbabooguuscooties]

Okay now can we get a 200 paragraph slop description of Nina and Coco’s weird dynamic

grabbig you so hard white knuckle grip digging in nails.

okay so like to get into the two of them together i do have to explain my characterization for coco a bit because while i think with nina everyone has a sort of collective agreement for the most part abt her coco is a little bit more all over the place ? anyway

because my idea of coco is that shes NOT a good guy like crash is. bc i think that crash is genuinely good hearted and likes helping people! i think aku aku is a very positive influence for him and all he will always willingly help even his enemies and thats nice. but coco does not give a fuck about all of that. coco will help crash because she loves him but outside of that everything she does is for her own ends.

i read somewhere that canonically coco has the capability of being a full hero like crash is and could probably do it even better but she just doesnt Want to. and i think thats so good. shes got her own shit going on. i think that she isnt as outside of cortex's influence in her creation as she likes to think; like i think a lot of people are in agreement that she was made to be a general in his army, and cortex successfully made her incredibly intelligent, so it makes sense there would be some aspects of her personality that pull from that.

idk i stick to my thing about how tagteam racing coco is the best shes insane in it like please listen to the voicelines for her theyre so funny .

shes insanely overconfident, shes competitive, shes got a hair trigger temper, shes greedy and snappy. shes a little con artist and is constantly doing startup companies and scamming investors for money , like thats canon. and obviously shes still NICE for the most part she'll do the right thing when she needs to because its usually in her best interests anyway but it doesnt take away from the fact that theres a little rot in the core of her that never really left when she escaped that lab.

and outside of crash and crunch and like, tawna maybe, she doesnt have many friends and NO peers. so theres aspects of her socially where i think shes a freak and doesnt know how to act. never been in school probably has adhd because shes always just starting projects and shit and abandoning them. anyway

so i think! meeting nina is very important for her! like because now she has someone the same age as her with the same level of intellect (and theyre both girls ?? 🙊🙊) and she SUCKS and thinks shes better than her! so of course that kicks cocos lazy ass into gear . i think nina has such a talent for getting under cocos skin and making her insane . especially since coco hasnt had to deal with someone on the same level like that before. and i do think that coco is technically smarter but shes so impulsive, all she can think about is wanting to beat nina in whatever nina can challenge her with. it makes her brain really need to work to fight against her and prove her wrong and theres some awful little rush she gets from proving her wrong , making her Know how smart coco really is, which just makes nina fight harder to take her down.

and they think they hate each other so much but theyre actively seeking each other out to start these fights! as much as they hurt each other its fun for them in a way thats different than if it were anyone else. this snotty little girl that thinks shes SO cool with her dumb metal hands .

but theres still that inherent understanding there too. the way theyre both isolated in the way they are. coco lives on a remote island with people way older than her and nina goes to school sure but in public school everyone hates her! and even at madam amberlies she didnt actually have FRIENDS . coco is the only one who goes out of her way to talk to nina even if its just to tell her shes got a stupid big forhead. and nina calls her a feral rat and they continue their little games and rituals. they dont have to say thats why outright when they can feel it in the way they are so desperate and obsessed with each others attention.

and probably coco doesnt know how badly cortex treats Nina exactly . maybe she thinks shes cruel and nasty for the fun of it. but she knows how terrible cortex CAN be. knows that those hands arent for ninas benefit, that she may as well be an asset. maybe she feels a little pity for her there when she knows ninas being used and probably doesnt even realize that. when ninas smarter than cortex will ever be, when coco had NEVER felt the level of threat from cortex that she has from Nina . she knows shed be better off without him and theres a part of her that wants to see it i think. she likes the challenge, she craves it. it gives her something to do something to actually care about.

and i like the plotline in crash of the titans where coco gets kidnapped by her and forced to work on that machine because it makes me think so much about the dynamic there. like why does Nina NEED Coco? her intelligence probably, i also like to think that nina cant build things as effectively as coco can because of her hands getting in the way and breaking shit.

but theres this funny thing in COTT because ninas like mind controlling her to do this with some helmet but instead of just leaving the thing on her and not bothering with her otherwise nina is CONSTANTLY taking it off just to like. what! banter with her?? gloat?? like she finally has this girl forced to hang out with her and shes having the time of her life . and im not even gonna get into the way that they both fumble over insulting each other the whole time. whatever .

the titans games suck but that interaction gives a lot of potential for the idea of like. nina habitually stealing coco away under the guise of needing her hands . i like that 🫵 always making a big show of making coco her prisoner and forcing her to do her bidding because its weird for her to want to see her so often otherwise. and coco eventually just going along with it because helping nina with these plans makes it more challenging to beat her later on. like shes testing herself. and she likes it. theyre needling each other the whole time and yet that doesnt stop nina from eventually trusting coco enough to let her work with her without even keeping her in a cage. even if it gives coco the potential to double cross her . but she never does!

and of course being that close to your enemy leaves them both vulnerable. i think coco does start to understand the real nature of how cortex is to nina and it does make her feel bad. doesnt notice how little bite her insults are having after so long. how nina actively fights to try to touch her in a way thats Gentle when she brings her back to her lab. the way nina is getting more nervous. shed be stupid not to realize how close theyre getting after a while even when they say theyre enemies. when theyre laughing as they beat each other into the dirt a week later. idkk

and ninas so scared of it im sure. she doesnt make it obvious but i know shes self concious as fuck especially when it comes to coco. shes aware of how she Looks. how pretty coco is and how Good she thinks she is compared to her. not like coco would actually Like her like that. stupid nina with no friends almost no family and an uncle who cant even be bothered half the time. she cant actually TRUST anyone, and this little game she has going with coco has to fall apart eventually even if she's dreading it. dreading the day she actually wins like she says she wants to and coco's Gone.

and ideally coco could work with her like that forever. slap a helmet on her, who cares, shes EVIL right? but something about having coco all mindcontrolled and brainless by her side like she did before makes nina a little sick. even if it was nice just having a friend for a day.

i think even when coco does start trying to be closer to her - because it has to be coco initiating. her confidence is less fake than ninas is lmao - it scares nina at first . for many reasons; reasons like, maybe this is a trick. and shes scared of what cortex will do. and she could hurt coco so easily, just like every other poor little animal unlucky enough to be in her hands. and shes a bad person, and she doesn't deserve to be happy, and happiness is weakness anyway, and BESIDES. coco is so pretty and she could do better but also who could possibly be better than NINA- and its really very complicated. so i think nina pushes her away at first but coco is so stubborn and nina is so weird and they both cant stay away from each other for very long. nina sending Tiny Tiger to give coco a message like 'WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME. NOW I FEEL STUPID AROUND YOU ALL THE TIME DID YOU POISON ME OR SOMETHING' like coco isnt thinking the same damn thing. like man i thought i hated you what happened. why do i like seeing your stupid little grin. fuck off...wait but dont..ahahhh

and i dont think they ever really like sit down and talk about whats going on between them. they just get closer and closer until they know too much about the other. until theyve let their hands linger too long. until ninas memorized how cocos fur feels on her skin and how much shes missed that. and how much emptier their lives are when the other isnt there to ruin their day. lmaoo. you know

i think they can be soft too. i think they deserve that. let themselves get tired out after all their arguing and spitting and they just look at each other. and its just them, alone together, and they kind of know that they arent going to get this with anyone else. and so i think they allow themselves to be soft with each other . when nina realizes she cant keep pushing coco away and lets her in and coco will kiss her and hold her and let her feel like that girl she was before cortex kind of ripped it all away. just for a little bit. because they know theyll be back after each other later on, they dont really know another way to be yet other than that. but they can have this too and no one else has to know or to get it.

also side note i think its funny how animals have an affinity for nina despite what cortex did to her . and like there is a part of nina that likes coco a lot because she is silly and fluffy and soft and cute and nina is actively working to kill that part of her while coco , Being An Animal, can kind of sense that about her too. i think she uses that against her a little bit . idkk . she thinks nina is cute even if you couldnt torture that fact out of her.

aa. holy fuck. anyway

[aupea]

breeding kink carmy thoughts down below! (minors, if you managed to stumble here this is an 18+ blog only, love you but please go bye bye) also, this is kind of afab/fem!reader based ?!?

okaayyy, so hear me out on this one y'all

carmy before you had never really been one for kids. he was always so busy between culinary school and trying to maintain relationships that he never had time to think about what he wanted once he had his dreams achieved. he only knew how to focus on the present, and even that was hard.

then, of course, he met you. the sunshine to his cloudy exterior, the one he felt himself being most sane and comfortable around. he had never been so in love- he actually found himself missing you if you had to work late or travel somewhere. like, hugging the pillow imaging its you missing.

but, then nat had her baby. her sweet little girl who looked just like nat, and you got to play the role of auntie alongside his star role of favorite uncle. and when he sees you holding her, her little hand wrapped around your finger, her eyes beaming up at you-- it almost awakens something in him. yeah, he was a goner! by the time you get home, he'd been fighting the urge to drag you into some hospital storage closet. he needed you- craved you, even. he needed to feel you. you and him step off the elevator in the hallway of your worn down apartment building, though you'd made a habit to ignore the cracks in the wall and the missing paint patches. once you two are fully off the elevator, you begin. "so, that was fun, right? i mean, baby rooms in hospitals are always-" your words are cut short by carmen's lips instantly clashing with yours, his hands coming to find your waist desperately.

of course, you don't protest. you never would, but you are a bit confused by the suddenness of it all. he grabs your hands, pulling you towards the apartment, his hands fighting to just unlock the door, much less pull you inside and push it against it.

hands fly, clothes are being pulled off and disregarded. by the time he has you into the bedroom and your back hitting the plush mattress, he's tossing his pants aside. he'll probably complain in the morning about not being able to find them. he kisses you like he loves to do, taking his time with it of course. like you'd slip away and just disappear. hands roaming your body, desperate for you, desperate for it all. he doesn't even know what he wants right now, but he knows it isn't anything but you.

and before either of you know it, he's deep in your pathetic, wet cunt. the sounds are filthy, but what's worse is his mumbling in your ear.

i've said this before, saying it again: carmy would 100% be a dirty talker without realizing. the pleasure takes its way into his verbal cortex and doesn't let go. this time, it's more. "gotta get nice and deep in there - shit - that's it baby. taking it so well, doing so good f'me." he'd say, desperately sucking at skin on your exposed neck, hands cupping your breasts or your waist, stretching you out so well. "gotta make sure it all gets in there, huh?" "need to get you all filled up-"

"gotta get you all nice and filled up with me, yeah? you like that- shit, shit, keep squeezin' like that-" your complaints were nonexistent, after all. you could barely get words out, too cock drunk to do anything but let out a heavenly moan he adored and moan his name, your fingers digging into skin. he loves those marks, btw, and if he could he'd probably preserve them just to get them tattooed where you squeeze his shoulders (AND HE PROBABLY WOULD CANT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE)

and when his climax hits at the same time yours does, he's pressing his forehead against yours, angling to hit every spot. after he spills inside of you - he'd be giddy just to do that anyway, he pulls out, pushing whatever spilled out back in. "there we go. my pretty girl." he'd murmur, talking more so to your pussy than to you.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧠 HUMAN LOGIC IS A BIOLOGICAL TOOL, NOT A UNIVERSAL TRUTH — DEAL WITH IT 🧠

🔪 Your Brain’s Favorite Lie: That Logic Is “Objective”.

Let’s stop playing nice. Your logic—your beautiful, beloved, oh-so-precious sense of what “makes sense”—is not divine. It’s not universal. It’s not even reliable. It’s a biologically evolved, meat-based survival mechanism, no more sacred than your gag reflex or the way your pupils dilate in the dark.

You’re walking around with a 3-pound wet sponge between your ears—trained over millions of years not to “understand the universe,” but to keep your ugly, vulnerable ass alive just long enough to breed. That’s it. That’s your heritage. That’s the entire raison d’être of your logic: don’t get eaten, don’t starve, and hopefully, bone someone before you drop dead.

But somewhere along the line, that same glitchy chunk of gray matter started patting itself on the back. We started believing that our interpretations of reality somehow were reality—that our logic, rooted in the same neural sludge as tribal fear and monkey politics, could actually comprehend the totality of existence.

Newsflash: it can’t. It won’t. It was never meant to.

💀 Evolution Didn’t Build You for Truth—It Built You to Cope.

Why do we think the universe must obey our logic? Because it feels good. Because it comforts us. Because a cosmos that operates on cause-effect, fairness, and binary resolution is safe. But here’s the raw, uncaring truth: the universe doesn’t give a shit about what “makes sense” to you.

Your ancestors didn’t survive because they could contemplate quantum mechanics. They survived because they could run from predators, recognize tribal cues, and avoid eating poisonous berries. That’s what your brain is optimized for. You don’t “think” so much as you react, pattern-match, and rationalize after the fact.

Logic is just another story we tell ourselves—an illusion of control layered over biological impulses. And we’ve mistaken the map for the terrain. Worse—we’ve convinced ourselves that if something defies our version of logic, it must be false.

Nah. If anything defies your logic, that just means your logic is insufficient. And it is.

📉 Spaghetti Noodle vs Earthquake: A Metaphor for Your Mind.

Imagine trying to measure a 9.7-magnitude earthquake using a cooked spaghetti noodle.

That’s what it’s like when a human tries to understand the totality of the universe using evolved meat-brain logic. It bends. It flails. It doesn't register. And when it inevitably fails, what do we do? We don't question the noodle—we deny the earthquake.

"This doesn't make sense!" we scream. "That can't be true!" we bark. "It contradicts reason!" we whine.

Your reason? Please. Your “reason” is the product of biochemical slop shaped by evolutionary shortcuts and social conditioning. You’re trying to compress infinite reality through the Play-Doh Fun Factory that is the prefrontal cortex—and you think the result is objective truth?

Try harder.

👁 Our Logic Is Not Only Limited—It’s Delusional 👁

Humans are addicted to the idea that things must “make sense.” But that urge isn’t noble. It’s a coping mechanism—a neurotic tic that keeps us from curling into a ball and sobbing at the abyss.

We don’t want truth. We want familiarity. We want logic to confirm our biases, reinforce our sense of superiority, and keep our mental snow globes intact.

This is why people still argue against things like:

Multiverse theories (“that just doesn’t make sense!”)

Non-binary time constructs (“how can time not be linear?”)

Quantum entanglement (“spooky action at a distance sounds made-up!”)

AI emergence (“machines can’t think!”)

We call them “impossible” because they offend the Church of Human Logic. But the universe doesn’t follow our rules—it just does what it does, whether or not it fits inside our skulls.

🧬 Logic Is a Neural Shortcut, Not a Cosmic Law 🧬

Every logical deduction you make, every syllogism you love, is just a cascade of neurons firing in meat jelly. And while that may feel profound, it’s no more “objective” than a cat reacting to a laser pointer.

Let’s break it down clinically:

Neural pathways = habitual responses

Reasoning = post-hoc justification

“Logic” = pattern recognition + cultural programming

Sure, logic feels universal because it's consistent within certain frameworks. But that’s the trap. You build your logic inside a container, and then get mad when things outside that container don’t obey the same rules.

That's not a flaw in reality. That's a flaw in you.

📚 Science Bends the Knee, Too 📚

Even science—our most sacred institution of “objectivity”—is limited by human logic. We create models of reality not because they are reality, but because they’re the best our senses and brains can grasp.

Think about it:

Newton’s laws were “truth” until Einstein showed up.

Euclidean geometry was “truth” until curved space said “lol nope.”

Classical logic ruled until Gödel proved that even logic can’t fully explain itself.

We’re not marching toward truth. We’re crawling through fog, occasionally bumping into reality, scribbling notes about what it might be—then mistaking those notes for the cosmos itself.

And every time the fog clears a bit more, we realize how hilariously wrong we were. But instead of accepting that we're built to misunderstand, we cling to the delusion that next time we’ll finally “get it.”

Spoiler: we won’t.

🌌 Alien Minds Would Find Us Adorable 🌌

Imagine a being with cognition not rooted in flesh. A silicon-based intelligence. A 4D consciousness. A non-corporeal entity who doesn’t rely on dopamine hits to feel “true.”

What would they think of our logic?

They’d laugh.

Our logic would seem as quaint as a toddler’s crayon drawing of a black hole. Our syllogisms? A joke. Our “laws of physics”? Regional dialects of a much deeper syntax. To them, we’d be flatlanders trying to explain volume.

And the real kicker? They wouldn’t even hate us for it. They’d just look at our little blogs and tweets and peer-reviewed papers and whisper: “Aw, they’re trying.”

💣 You Are Not a Philosopher-King. You Are a Biochemical Coin Flip.

Don’t get it twisted. You are not some detached, floating brain being logical for logic’s sake. Every thought you have is drenched in emotion, evolution, and instinct. Even your "rationality" is soaked in bias and cultural conditioning.

Let’s prove it:

Ever “logically” justify a bad relationship because you feared loneliness?

Ever dismiss an argument you didn’t like even though it made sense?

Ever ignore data that threatened your worldview, then called it “flawed”?

Congratulations. You’re human. You don’t want truth. You want safety. And logic, for most of you, is just a mask your fears wear to sound smart.

🪓 We Have to Kill the God of Logic Before It Kills Us.

Our worship of logic as some kind of untouchable deity has consequences:

It blinds us to truths that don’t “compute.”

It makes us hostile to mystery, paradox, and ambiguity.

It turns us into arrogant gatekeepers of “rationality,” dismissing what we can’t explain.

That’s why Western culture mocks intuition, fears spirituality, and rejects phenomena it can’t immediately dissect. If it doesn’t bow to the metric system or wear a lab coat, it’s seen as “woo.”

But here’s the paradox:

The deepest truths may be the ones that never fit inside your head. And if you cling to logic too tightly, you’ll miss them. Hell—you might not even know they exist.

⚠️ So What Now? Do We Just Give Up? ⚠️

No. We don’t throw logic away. We just stop treating it like a universal measuring stick.

We use it like what it is: a tool. A hammer, not a temple. A flashlight, not the sun. Logic is helpful within a context. It’s fantastic for building bridges, writing code, or diagnosing illnesses. But it breaks down when used on the unquantifiable, the infinite, the beyond-the-body.

Here’s how we survive without losing our minds:

Stay skeptical of your own thoughts. If it “makes sense,” ask: to whom? Why? Is that logic—or is it just comfort?

Let mystery exist. You don’t need to solve every riddle. Some truths aren’t puzzles—they’re paintings.

Defer to the unknown. Accept that your brain is not the final word. Sometimes silence is smarter than syllogisms.

Interrogate the framework. When you say “this doesn’t make sense,” maybe the problem isn’t the idea—it’s the limits of your logic.

Don’t gatekeep reality. Just because you can’t wrap your mind around something doesn’t mean it’s false. It might just mean you’re not ready.

🎤 Final Thought: You’re a Dumb Little God—And That’s Beautiful.

You are a confused primate running wetware logic on blood and breath. You hallucinate meaning. You invent consistency. You call those inventions “truth.”

And the universe? The universe just is. It doesn’t bend for your brain. It doesn’t wait for your approval. It doesn’t owe you legibility.

So maybe the wisest thing you’ll ever do is this:

Stop pretending you’re built to understand everything. Start living like you’re here to witness the absurdity and be humbled by it.

Now go question everything—especially yourself.

🔥 REBLOG if your logic just got kicked in the teeth. 🔥 FOLLOW if you’re ready for more digital crowbars to the ego. 🔥 COMMENT if your meat-brain is having an existential meltdown right now.

[c0smiccom3t]

Crash Of The Titans / Mind Over Mutant fanfic: Ryonna's lullaby (at least they try to do that)

(a small thing i might turn into a comic. a parody to the famous 2016 sharkboy and lavagirl meme. But with the COTT/MOM villains. Lol.) (note: it's just Ryonna Lemurs, Tiny Tiger and Cortex.) Ryonna: Alright, master. You had your cookies and milk. NOW GO TO SLEEP! Cortex: I'll try, just let me get comfy first, you ringtailed brute! *he puts on his sleeping mask and lays down in his bed* Ryonna, with her eye twitching: GO. TO SLEEP. Tiny: Not wike that, Ryonna! Sing him a lullabwy! *Tiny clears his throat and starts singing softly and ever so gently* Tiny: Dreaaaam, dreaaaam, dreaaaam~ Ryonna's mind: WHAT IS THIS?! THIS TIGER CAN'T SING A LULLABY FOR CRUD! I'LL SHOW HIM BEAT! Tiny: Your tuwn, Ryo! ^^ Ryonna, eye twitching and inhaling deeply before starting to sing: ...Close your eyes, shut your mouth, meme a meme and get us out... meme meme meme meme meme meme... Hit the hay, fast asleep, meme a meme you little bleep. meme meme meme meme meme meeeeeme. *Cue Cortex snoring loudly and fluttering his lips* Tiny: It's working! keep it up, Ryonna--! Ryonna: LETS GO!!!!!! JUST RELAX, LAY ABOUT or my FIST WILL PUNCH YOU OUT!!! MEME MEME MEME MEME MEME MEEEEEME!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME, BUT BEWARE, THERE ARE BANDICOOTS IN THE AIR MEME MEME MEME MEME MEME MEEEEEME!!!! *Tiny looks pretty worried. apparently because he knows Ryonna has too many anger issues to sing a lullaby... But they do love her boss, so...* Ryonna: DONT DESPAIR STEP RIGHT UP! GLASS O' WATER, HERE'S A CUP!! MEME MEME MEME MEME MEME MEEEEE-- Tiny: HE'S HAVING A NOIGHTMARE! Wake up Mastwer, wake up! *Tiny shakes a sleeping thumb-sucking Cortex quickly, unfortunately he doesn't wake up* Tiny: STWOP THAT RWACKET, RYONNA! YOU'RE GWIVING HIM NOIGHTMARES! Ryonna: But... He's sleeping peacefully to me-- Tiny: ...Sorry, Cortex... *Tiny then proceeds to pour water over Cortex. Making him wake up and yell like a lady* Cortex: HEY! WHAT IN THE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! Ryonna: See?? I told you he was sleeping peacefully, you big ol' softie!

The end :D

[somesecretpie]

I am looking for a human host!

Are you bored?

Are you lonely and bored?

Do you have a lot of time on your hands?

Do you have hands?

I’m offering you a proposal, with potential financial compensation for your troubles. It may sound off putting at first blush, but hear me out. I am looking for a human host. And I mean a “willing” human host who might be willing to give up some of their time to help out an odd fellow that doesn’t have hands or blood.

Am I asking to control your body? Yes. Sometimes. You’ll still be there, but taking the backseat. Now you’re probably thinking “That sounds no fun! I don’t want to spend all my time riding shotgun.”

And that’s valid.

But you all spend about half of the day unconscious anyway. Your body is just there, doing nothing—a complete waste. As for me, I don’t sleep (haha), so we could have it so that during the day, I will graciously let you do fun human things, and at night, I’ll do whatever. And by whatever, I mean perfectly safe, perfectly reasonable activities.

I don’t drink, and I rarely go outside.

I enjoy baking, I look at pictures of birds online, I’ve been getting into neuroscience lately. Very interesting stuff. You’re all very interesting.

And maybe you’re still thinking “Hey now, I don’t want some random mind-controlling thingy hauling my body around in my sleep, “Weekend at Bernie’s Style” to which I say, you’re no fun and you’re not the kind of person I want to live with anyway.

“But I’m a light sleeper!” you say.

Don’t worry! I can isolate your somatosensory cortex so you can’t feel anything.

“But my family will think it’s weird!” you say.

Don’t worry! You don’t have to tell them.

Actually, I would prefer that you don’t tell anyone. Please.

And should anyone question me, I’m not bad at impressions. I’ll get really good at a “you” impression, it’ll be the first thing I do!

I know this all sounds very strange and potentially unpleasant, but remember the financial compensation that may or may not be happening. Hell, I’ll even do some of your chores if you like, while you sleep. You can wake up and the dishes will be done, laundry folded and coffee made. Doesn’t that sound nice? And then you open the fridge and oh, what’s this? Someone baked banana bread last night (that was me, I baked banana bread last night.)

Now I should say, I don’t have a lot of standards, I really don’t. But I do (unfortunately) have some, so let’s just get them out of the way before I waste your time.

Please do not contact me if you have any of the following:

- Anemia: Sorry, it’s just not going to work out. I can pay for iron supplements, but I can’t work miracles.

-A weak immune system: I don’t like getting sick, I’m sorry. It’s gross, sick people are gross. I mean I know it’s not your fault, but healthy folks only please.

-A strong immune system: Yes, I know what I just said, but I also don’t want to be attacked by your immune system. So maybe you’re not the picture of health, but you’re just kind of okay. I’m looking for someone who is just kind of okay.

-A penchant for alcohol: It makes me feel strange…

-A name that starts with a P: I’m not the greatest at “speaking.” It’s hard, moving air through your throat and moving your tongue and your mouth at the same time. You all do it so easy—can’t say I’m not envious! I’m the worst at making the “P” sound.

I intentionally avoid any "p word" in conversation, and get by well enough, but I’ll look pretty foolish if I’m cavorting about, pretending to be you, and I can’t even say your name!

Those are my standards, but really, other than that, I’ll take anyone.

I don’t care if you’re male or female or anything in between.

I don’t care if you’re gay.

I don’t care if you’re smart.

I don’t care if you don’t have a lawyer.

There are so many things that I don’t care about.

Now, I’ve specified all the ways in which I could compensate you and how our relationship will be not in any way problematic, but I want to stress that, above all things, I am looking for a friend.

Someone I can spend quiet evenings with.

If you want to hang out with me during the day, that’s great! I can give you fun hallucinations. Or you could have hallucinations the normal way, like by reading, like what you’re doing now. I love to read! I love doing funny voices. I wonder what you think I sound like?

I hope I sound nice.

And one of the best things about me is I’m very quiet. No one else will be able to hear me except you. I’ll be like your own personal friend that only you know. Like a secret friend. And you don’t even have to talk to me because I can read your thoughts.

I suppose I should tell you a bit more about myself, since you’re still reading.

I was born in the Everglades, I think. It’s been awhile.

But I remember being so cold…

And so alone...

But then I met this sweaty man in a colorful tee-shirt, with a camera, and half a granola bar, and with blood so hot.

So yeah, he was my first host, and I’ll admit, we weren’t the best of friends. It was a confusing time for both of us. I was confused. He was confused. What happened was really both of our faults, you could say…

He was a bird watcher, if I recall correctly. Just watched birds all the time. I thought it might have been out of jealousy—watching those little things flying around makes you feel kind of stuck. I felt stuck.

So I decided to be a bird for a while to see if it was really all it’s cracked up to be. Squished myself into the body of this lovely American crow. We settled down, built a nest, and laid several nice, healthy eggs with a man-bird by the name of “Richard Baxter.”

He was a very proud bird, very large. And he gave me so many wonderful gifts. Like children, and also small pieces of plastic.

I still have all of them.

The plastic, not the children.

I’d never been so happy, all these hormones had me consumed in the joy of motherhood, but the crow’s health was failing. I could not sustain myself—it’s pathetic little heart beat weaker and weaker.

I tried starving, I tried everything I could, I wanted to be a bird so bad. But it just wasn’t working out.

The bird stopped working.

The other crows held a funeral service for me, even though I was still alive. I tried to tell them, but I’m not good at speaking, you remember.

It was all just a big mess.

I haven't seen Baxter since, but I still think about him a lot.

Is that weird?

I’m totally over it though, haha.

After that incident, I got kind of depressed... I possessed a lot of trash animals—gulls, racoons, and salespeople. I did what I could to survive. That’s kind of where I am now.

I am currently living in Miami florida—been body surfing almost every day (haha). Right now I’m using a library computer and a librarian. She does not like being possessed, boy howdy are these fingers twitching. But you can thank her for my halfway decent grammar.

I’m tired of feeling like a parasite.

I want to try a different approach.

I want to be friends? Like with Richard Baxter except I also live in your brain and drink your blood sometimes. But I’ll make you bread in your sleep, so it’s okay.

It’s been really hard finding someone willing to put up with me.

I’ve tried everything.

So I thought I would put up an advertisement online, why not?

Can’t say the P word in real life, but you can hear it in your head loud enough I hope.

I know I kept saying that I would compensate you financially, but I’m going to be real with you, I don’t have much. I’ve got like twenty bucks, some small pieces of plastic and a book about...finance....

But I’m a real hoot! ;D

So,

(P)lease,

If you are interested, leave your comments below. I would love to get to know you :)

I need to go now, the library is closing soon, but I’ll get back as soon as I can.