can we talk about how the weirdest part of staticmoth isn't even the fact that they're toxic to each other?
it's how they both react to each other's toxicity with nonchalance.
like. first, during val's tantrum, val throws a glass at vox, or well, in his vicinity.
then vox just... steps away like it's nobody's business, barely bothered by it.
and later, when it's vox's turn to be angry, he roughly pulls val down, shakes him, and shouts at his face.
then val just... shrugs it off.
usually when you think of a toxic relationship, you'd probably think of person A being toxic to person B then person B biting back just as toxic until it's a back and forth of toxicity, a full-blown fight.
but that. that's not staticmoth. staticmoth is fucking weird in that when one is acting toxic towards the other, the other acts nonchalant and doesn't retaliate. then they switch roles on who the toxic one is and who the nonchalant one is.
I am not at all denying the toxicity in their relationship, but they certainly are a really fucking weird brand of toxic that is just. so hard to describe.
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This is just a food for thought thing bc I have no where to really share this. I (ofc) do the self insert/day dream thing with Logan, and yeah like most fan fics I tend to put others first and TRY to be kind. But I'm also very stubborn and protective. And I know MY ass would get all defensive and "I'll beat the shit out of you for insulting him" about Logan (even if he's taller and stronger), but I never would about myself.
So imagine tiny lil s/o reader being held effortlessly by Logan when they get mad at how someone for how they treated him
this concept actually has me swooning as someone with my father's temper. i would go down bloody and bruised in a fight for logan's reputation, but he wouldn't LET ME.
He's laughing. You've got vitriol on your tongue, rage fueling your actions, and blood spread across your knuckles and he's fucking laughing. You aren't sure what's worse. The words the man - now stumbling away from the bar - spewed, or the fact that Logan has his arm clamped around your waist - a grin curved around the lit cigar he's been puffing.
"You about done bub?" he chuckles, hand yanking at your hip to turn you into his body.
The glare you give should send him six feet under, but the pride on his face kills your rage quicker than you would have liked.
Whatever argument transpired was petty. You knew this. Logan knew this. He just never expected you to throw your drink in the drunk's face. Proceeding to nearly break his nose by slamming his face into the bar-top.
"He called you a piece of shit," you growl - feral and untamable to others. Cute and his little spitfire to him.
Logan shrugs. "Been called that before."
"Not with me around."
"And what were you gonna do about it huh? His face is bleeding. I think ya made your point."
Anger trickles down into the petulant grim expression you wear like a mask. It's sobering to know that you'd be laid out flat on the filthy floor of the bar if you kept that fight up. If Logan hadn't yanked you away from the man, curses flying out of your mouth quicker than Wade's jokes.
His hand is warm against your cheek, the amusement clear in his expression. "He can call me a piece of shit boyfriend all he wants. I'm fine with that. You know why?"
The pout isn't cute - you know that - but the sight of it makes his grin deepen. His hazel eyes sporting a shine of awe he only wore for you.
"Why?"
"Cause I have you. And he doesn't."
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I want to know more about the hiding the cat thing, how’s you manage that?
okay so in december of 2018 me and my cousin, who had moved in with me earlier that year, heard a knock on our door about two minutes after a house guest had left. On the other side is said house guest, who eagerly informs us that there is a VERY sweet and friendly kitten roaming around out in the parking lot
To quickly set the scene here: it is 45°F out and the sun is going down. We are in pajamas. Neither of us are even wearing shoes
Both of us, avid cat lovers, charge down the stairs to pet this cat, who is indeed very friendly and INCREDIBLY sweet, trotting right up to us and purring up a storm. My cousin looks at me. I look at him. "Absolutely not," I tell him, because our apartment has a strict $300 pet deposit policy and neither of us have that kind of pocket money lying around.
"But TJ," my cousin says, in a voice i have come to recognize as a precursor to the world's most obvious yet effective attempts at emotional manipulation, "it's cold outside. And the highway is right there. Wouldn't you feel so terrible if you woke up tomorrow and–"
"OH MY GODS," I say, very loudly, "GO. JUST TAKE HIM INSIDE, GO GO GO."
My cousin scoops the kitten up (who doesnt protest even a little), runs up all three flights of stairs so fast he fucking blurs, and now we have a cat. in our apartment. and no pet deposit.
Ofc we did make the obligatory attempt at finding his original owner. He was far too sweet and friendly to be a proper stray, and while he was very thin he still had soft fur and wasnt super scruffy. We very quietly asked around, put up some carefully worded signs in the neighborhood, checked in with the local shelters-- nada. Nothing. Not a single peep about this cat. And after a full week of bonding, both of us were 100% set on keeping him.
Honestly, hiding him from our apartment wasnt anything spectacular. We're indoor-only owners, and our friends pitched in to help us get him neutered, get his shots, and essential supplies. We had two inspections during the 3 month period we saved up for a pet deposit, and both times we just hid his stuff in our cabinets, put him in his cat carrier, and took him to someone else's house for the day. Once we had the money we needed and could actually spare it, we went to our leasing office and informed them we wanted to adopt a cat.
"Oh thank god," I distinctly remember hearing the woman who handed me the appropriate paperwork say. "We're so grateful you went through the proper channels for this. Nobody ever does that, and it's such a hassle for us. What's your new cat's name?"
"Oh, of course," I replied, with what i think was frankly admirable composure. "I'm always happy to be helpful. And we've decided to name him Anarchy."
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absolutely obsessed with the idea of timbern being super secretive over bear's time in the cult.
on one hand, bear is wildly insecure of his scars from the cult. cause it's not like he fucking got them saving the city or helping someone, he was just stupid enough to get sucked into a cult. (a voice in the back of his head that sounds a lot like his therapist and tim tell him that kids are supposed to be stupid and that his time in the cult is more a reflection of the adults in his life than his own choices) anyway his back and legs are like a mess of scarring and normally he'd just tattoo over them but scars have to be a certain age before they're tattooable. so he now just covers them up.
on the other hand, tim is insanely protective over bear's traumas. like if he got any more protective he'd be like certified deranged. so he just straight up dodges or lies about bear's backstory. anyway all this to say, they're hanging out in the pool at the manor and nobody but them ws supposed to be home. so bear thinks it's safe to take off his shirt. they're both having fun until someone says behind bear, "dude... what happened to your back?" cue tim lunging at them like a rabid dog and bear struggling to hold tim back going "tim, tim, what the fuck, what the fuck????"
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