#so cool to stop and think about those things

[marifilue]

Gravity

Wordcount: 651

Tags: Fluffs, established relationship

Pairing: Logan Howlett x GF!Reader (no use of y/n)

Oneshot: Logan being touch starved but never admit it

Logan is touch-starved—always has been, always will be. He’d never say it out loud, wouldn’t even entertain the thought, but you can always catch it in the smallest gestures.

He’d never ask you to lay on top of him, curled up in his arms. Never said those words in that order before. But once you’re there, he won’t let you go. His arm stays locked around your back, firm, unmoving. Try to shift, and he grumbles low—“Where you goin’?” or “Nah, not done yet.” Like it’s nothing. Like he doesn’t need this.

Sometimes, he won’t let you up for reasons that only make sense to him—like if someone’s knocking on the door. But if you need water or a bathroom break? That, he allows.

You’d been watching some show for hours when Logan finally came home. He didn’t say anything, just sank onto the couch beside you, wearing nothing but his white tank top and jeans. The scent of cigar smoke and leather clung to him, familiar and grounding. His thigh pressed against yours as he settled in.

He glanced at you briefly, then back at the screen, fingers twitching against his knee.

"You alright?" you asked, biting back a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he hummed, flicking his gaze to you again before shifting slightly. Slowly, his left arm lifted to rest along the back of the couch—an invitation. A silent request.

Normally, you’d give in without hesitation, but tonight, you felt like making him work for it.

"How was the meeting?" you asked, feigning obliviousness as you kept your attention on the screen.

"Long. Exhaustin’." His voice was rough, but you caught the flicker of impatience in his tone.

"Aww I'm sorry to hear that." You said in faux empathy.

His fingers found the hem of your T-shirt, idly toying with the fabric, tugging just enough to be noticeable.

"You like my shirt?" you teased.

Logan huffed, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. "Stop messin’ with me."

Oh, the look on his face—priceless. You burst into laughter, and his frown deepened.

"What’s so funny?"

"I just think it’s cute that you want to cuddle. Just ask, Logan." You nudged him playfully.

His smirk was slow, deliberate. "Dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I don’t cuddle."

"Oh, really?" You turned to face him, eyes glinting with mischief. "So if I just do this…"

With a playful push, you sent him backward until his head hit the armrest. Before he could protest, you climbed on top of him, pressing your ear against his chest, where his heartbeat thudded steady and strong.

"You wouldn’t mind, right? Since you don’t cuddle," you teased, grinning.

Logan exhaled deeply, his hand slipping beneath your shirt, cool palm pressing flat against your back, fingers splayed as if grounding himself. His breath ruffled your hair, and when he spoke, his voice was a low rumble against your cheek.

"Guess I can tolerate it."

You tried to focus on the TV, but the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you made it impossible. His arm tightened, just enough to keep you there—his personal human blanket, small against him, yet somehow the only thing holding him together.

Minutes passed, the room sinking into an easy, quiet warmth. Logan's breathing slowed, the tension in his body melting bit by bit as he relaxed beneath you. His other hand found your side, fingers tracing absent patterns against your ribs, lazy and unhurried.

"You’re warm," he muttered, half into your hair, voice thick with exhaustion.

"You’re comfy," you murmured back, smiling as you closed your eyes.

His chest vibrated with something close to a chuckle, but he said nothing. Just held you, hands never still, always lingering—at your back, your side, your hip, like he needed constant proof you were there.

And, well… you weren’t about to go anywhere. Not when he clung to you like a lifeline, like you were the only force keeping him steady in this world.

His gravity.

[rachetmath]

Nora's Plan B

Hey Nora.

Nora: Sup Em, whicha want?

Emerald: Say if Ren doesn’t work out would you date Jaune?

Nora: Yes.

Emerald: What?

Ruby: What?

Weiss: What?

Nora: What? Is that a big deal?

Emerald: Explain.

Nora: I mean I call Jaune a fearless leader for a reason.

Weiss: But Cardin-

Nora: Let’s break it down. Jaune let Cardin get away with what he did was because of his transcripts however that’s also because Jaune was used to situations like because no one has ever helped him with that. Think about it, how many friends Jaune had before Beacon?

Ruby: Hm.

Nora: Plus the moment Cardin threatened Pyrrha his attitude took a whole 180. Shoot after the Ursa he was ready to fight Cardin again.

Ruby and Weiss: Yeah, she’s not wrong.

Nora: Next, Cinder would have to watch Jaune’s progression in order to set up a good team for us to fight. Didn’t she?

Emerald: Yeah.

Nora: And Jaune stood up for Pyrrha when everybody was laying pressure on her. That’s something.

RWE: True.

Ruby: But Nora sometimes Jaune-

Nora: Hold on, yeah, Jaune has his hissy fits but then again, don’t we all grieve differently. Plus Ruby, Qrow waited until we were attacked by Salem’s forces to explain everything. Instead, he could have just told us from the start. He was doing unnecessary things. So yeah Jaune has every right to be mad. I say Qrow should have counted his blessings that Jaune was willing to help him at all if you weren’t around. Or Jaune kills him by his own hands.

Ruby: Oh.

Weiss: But then he- Oscar-

Nora: With Oscar, Jaune admitted he overreacted with him. But, again, understandble. We grieve at our own pace. And I mean seriously Ozpin hadyears to stop Salem and he hasn’t done it. Ozpin might as well be just as bad as Salem.  Also if you have not noticed back in Argus the moment he pushed Oscar to the wall none of us were ready. Remember how  Yang looked?

RW: 

Nora: That was fear. I will say that takes points away for being attractive but it also shows he has a breaking point. Which for most people needs to be avoided cause someone could end up dead. But again Jaune proves he has control of his emotions by letting Oscar go.

Yang: Yeah she’s not wrong. 

Ruby: Yang how-

Yang: Stay on topic. Look I’m cool with Ren and you know I- I understood why he was upset but the moment he realized his tone with Jaune-

Yang: He knew. He knew he f**** up but then Jaune’s response- Oh my god.

Yang: He maintained his composure. His behavior proves he learned from Argus with Oscar. He still was willing to talk with him.

Yang: If that’s not maturity then I don’t know what is. Just saying. 

Ruby: But Jaune in the Ever After was-

Yang: Okay let’s compare. Ren was upset about Atlas and Mantle. Instead of being upset about it and following orders, what else has he done to fix anything? Nothing. And when he finally expressed himself it was after Oscar got kidnapped. And we were stranded in the middle of miles in snow with no food or transportation. Meanwhile, leaving those thousands of people to die.

Me: But didn’t you start it?

Yang: Doesn’t matter.

Me: Yes it-

Yang: Shut up. And in the Ever After Ruby…. …. We were there for a day and we made Little homeless. Robbed the knights. Almost died playing a game of chess with a spoiled brat. Fought our inner demons. And destroyed a city market with people in it to save ourselves from Neo. In one day mind you we did all of that.

Ruby: Holy-

Yang: Now with Jaune he wasn’t dismissing our problem but we were contemplating at the wrong time. 

Yang: Mainly because a storm came.

Yang: He then brought us to his home.

Yang: And let's recall he was waiting for us. Something he didn’t have to do. At all.  And what did we do? Judge the man for taking care of a bunch of children who want to die.

Yang: Then we brought Neo to him.

Yang: And Ruby -

Ruby: No further comments.

Yang: And Ratchet.

Me: *sigh* Okay. Fine. If you have seen my list of Jaune ships or seen any of my post on Ren and Nora., my outlook on them is not good. But after thinking about the reason I hate Nora, I steadily realized, ‘man, what I am saying, she’s better than Sakura.” She doesn’t physically or mentally abuse Jaune like Sakura does to Naruto. And unlike the other besides Pyrrha she’s consistent with Jaune. So I'll admit I was petty with her in volume seven and eight. I can see Nora’s Arc happening.

Nora: Thank you. Anyways Emerald I would date Jaune as my plan B. Especially if Ren and I don’t recover from Atlas.

Emerald: Well damn. Too bad you got competition.

Nora: *laugh*

RWE: *shocked*

Nora: Let them come. But remember, team JNPR. And team JNRO. And team RNJR.

Weiss: What is that- oh my god.

Nora: That’s right. I’m number two. I’m the second. I’m always beside Jaune. Not Pyrrha. Not Ren. Me. He’s the leader. But the queen of the motherf***ing castle. Bye ladies. *leaves*

Yang: Damn.

Weiss: Oh no, I better act fast.

Ruby: I need Ren to clean up his mess quickly.

Emerald: She most definitely

[suzukiblu]

Day two of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The cops get Croc bundled off and head off with him, and Kon waits a minute or so to make sure the guy’s staying secured, then flies towards Pearl and drops down on top of a building halfway there to make a run across the rooftops the rest of the way. There’s nothing weird about somebody running rooftops in Gotham, and most people know better than to worry about who’s up there. Flying–well, if anybody notices that, somebody might actually get interested. Especially if he was doing it Super-fast. 

So rooftops it is, definitely. 

A few rooftops and a fire escape shimmy later, Kon’s landing in the back of an alley across the street from where Alfred’s parked the towncar and ditching the clothes he ganked from the sidewalk in a dumpster to make sure nobody’s gonna be seeing ‘em on any security cameras. His shoes are still in the backseat of the towncar, but what, is he gonna step on a rock or something? 

Or, well, a bunch of broken glass or used needles, given it’s Gotham, but the point stands. None of those options are gonna do anything worse than wreck his socks, and this is definitely not a situation in which he’s gonna worry about the structural integrity of his friggin’ socks. 

He hits the sidewalk and crosses the street after making sure no cars are gonna hit him and fuck themselves up, and Alfred gets out of the car and holds open the door for him. It is both fully unnecessary and also very comfortingly Alfred, even a few realities in the wrong direction. Which is dumb, since Kon doesn’t even know the guy that well personally, just–he knows what Tim thinks of him, and the guy is slightly less disapproving of him than Bruce is, and also at this point he’ll just take what the fuck he can get. 

“Thanks, man,” Kon starts to say to him as he half-ducks to get into the backseat, and then Jon basically tackles him before his foot even hits the floor of the car. Tackles him with very Kryptonian speed and strength, for the record, if downscaled for a ten year-old. “Oof. Shit, what’s wrong, did something–?” 

“That was so cool!” Jon enthuses, and Kon stares down at the kid blankly. Jon’s face is all lit-up and his eyes are very literally sparkling with glee. Kon . . . keeps staring down at him blankly. 

“Uh, what?” he says. 

“You stopped that guy one-handed and scared off all those guys without having to fight any of ‘em and he said it was his town and you said we were an invasive species and you made it sound so much cooler than Mr. Ross did in science!” Jon rattles off excitedly, pulling back to mime . . . well, it looks like he’s imitating the way he just tossed Croc ass-over-teakettle down the street, and also maybe like he’s trying to imitate the too-sharp-for-human grin he’d made a point of wearing even without the teeth for it. Which . . . cannot possibly be a thing, but is apparently being a thing. 

The fuck? 

“Uh,” Kon says again, and Jon just keeps rambling in delight and waving his hands dramatically as he does. 

“–and you threw him so far and totally knocked him out and–” 

Kon sneaks a glance over at Alfred, hoping for, like . . . literally any help whatsoever here. Alfred just raises an eyebrow at him. 

Fuck. 

“–you saved that guy and got disguised so fast and didn’t even–”

[goatgoesmbe]

Inspired by those woodchopping tiktok videos tw : implied Stalker!Soap SoapxReader

Soap scrolling tiktok casually, swiping videos after videos in his fyp. It varies from some cool art, military life, and of course.. some bonnie lass.

And then, his thumb hovered over the screen as he stopped at a particular video. You, in a white tanktop, stretched across your chest and showing your biceps that bulged slightly when you gripped your axe before swinging it hard on a hard stump, splitting it in half.

He felt himself chubbed up in his pants, he didn't think he would get jealous over an axe- or a tree stump.

After leaving a like, he saved your video and spent all night watching video after video of you- his other hand was already in his boxers, pumping himself lazily.

It doesn't take long for him to know more about you. You live near some woods alone, well not really- you do have some dogs, 2 collies, and an alaskan malamute.

He learned that you're more than a bonnie thing that could crush his head with your thighs, you're also sweet and caring. He could tell from some of your videos helping around with your little community.

He held back a groan as he saw you smiling oh so sweetly while holding a child in one arm and carrying some sacks of flour in the other from your truck to some shelter.

You're perfect.

He then sat up and reached for his laptop, putting his skill to good use.

You really should pay more attention before you post your videos, the license plate of your truck is showing for a split second in one of them.

[ieetbeez]

Small Rant About RE

Hello gang... This has been on my mind for awhile. Today we're talking about Resident Evil and particularly Leon stans. Now I'm gonna come out and say I am one of them! I love that silly little blonde man and he's like number 1 on my favorite capcom white boy tier list next to Cody from Final Fight/SF.

tw: mentions of rape, pedophilia, incest, abuse, and my opinion

Let me make it clear, I'm not kink shaming, I'm not advocating for censorship. Art and literature shouldn't be censored. Sex is cool. Kink is cool (when safe and consensual).

I'm gonna be one of those fans real quick and say, I've been an RE fan since I was like 7. That doesn't really mean much since I can't drink legally but I've been in love with Leon since elementary school. I watched my Dad and brother play RE6 co-op and man... Aka I've been in the fandom for a fat minute. Before the RE2 remake came out I'd see the occasional Dead Dove fic but that's whatever. But I have never seen this much dark romance about Leon of all people!

Like. Call it the T-Virus the way it's everywhere I swear I can't scroll down the damn tag without getting hit with a sexual crime. And let me say, I'm not new to fandom culture. I take don't like don't read to heart (I'm super picky LMAO). And I understand that, that's just how big fandoms are, more people, more bad eggs. I'm sure the majority of y'all are sweet people.

BUT I feel like I shouldn't have to say that romanticizing things like pedophilia, rape, abuse, and incest is disgusting in the big year 2025 but here we are. Honestly, I feel this way about a lot of the fics of other fandoms I'm in. I feel crazy seeing it everywhere and it makes me feel like some sort of sexual puritan. Am I insane for wanting freaky smut and not ...freaky smut??

There for sure is a bigger conversation here about how easily accessible porn is and how quick people to fall into these pipelines. Or how booktok caused a rise in the normalization of dark romance troupes and just pure porn writing (I still hate icebreaker). Or how quick form constant content is slowly leaking it's way into everything. But we’d be here for forever…

And like, it's just completely out of character?? Like if you're gonna write about that can it at least be in character? Wesker fits the dark romance thing LEAGUES better. But LEON?? THE POLICE OFFICER?? Did you even watch a walkthrough? Leon is a sweet upstanding guy with lots of trauma, that is the last thing he'd do to ANYONE! Not saying fics have to be completely accurate all the time but there's literally nothing fun about "Omg what if Leon RAPED you!?" HES NOT THE EVIL RESIDENT HERE GUYS! At some point it's not even about Leon (or whoever the fic is about) anymore, it's just someone wanting to share their sexual fantasies online.

These topics are almost never written with any care and are insanely insensitive to the survivors of these acts. I don't know, sexual crimes are literally some of the most deplorable acts of hatred and depravity someone can do onto another person. I can't imagine getting off to the suffering of others (in a heinous crime way not BDSM way) (BDSM is cool). Have some fucking empathy and stop thinking with your goon wad guys <3

Like at least take it to AO3 so that I can filter it out or smth...

Edit: I just woke up and remembered what else I was gonna say.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their fictional characters. Another thing I don’t like are the Gooner mods for the games. Like they’re fun every once in a while and like if it’s a capcom game you have to expect it. At some point though, it just stops being sexy and feels gross or uncomfortable.

Idk maybe I’m in the minority here but there has never been a single time where I was playing any RE game and thought to myself, “man… I wish I could see Leon’s end rod whipping in the wind rn…” Obviously, I wanna see that man oiled up butt booty naked doing jumping jacks like as most normal people do but… zawg…

That’s also like an actual person?? At least for the remakes. Maybe this just isn’t my dove to eat but the treat Leon like some sort doll. I know it’s kinda weak to be like this for a fictional person but yeah </3

[ezrasxfics]

i might be the brain of evil.

-

abstragedy

-

gangle pov

i sit alone in my red, white and black themed room, drawing, trying to avoid my mind being infested with thoughts of what happened that day. the spudsy’s adventure. you see, i’ve not been able to get it out of my head. no matter what i do, and how much people insist i’m forgiven, i can’t seem to forgive myself, to convince myself it’s all okay.

putting down my black mechanical pencil, i take a deep breath in, just the way ragatha had taught me to. i hold it in for a few seconds, counting down from 5 before i let it go, a small exhaling noise leaving my mouth. it doesn’t really solve the problem, but i suppose it’s a good short-term coping strategy. that, and drowning the thoughts out with the loud music blasting in my ears. or.. where my ears would be. it seemed to work when i put headphones over them, so i suppose it doesn’t matter what they’re called.

when zooble walked into my room, i didn’t even notice at first, listening to some old vocaloid song: ‘world is mine’. i had it turned all the way up, to the point it was almost painful. that way i didn’t have to think.

“uh.. hey, gangle?” zooble says, tapping me on the shoulder, making me jump and squeal in surprise, practically throwing my headphones off.

“oh-!! hi, zooble..! sorry.. i was just- just.. drawing!! yeah, that’s what i was doing!!” i ramble, and internally facepalm. zooble was so cool.. i couldn’t help but be nervous around them!! and, being nervous just lead to me acting like a total fool.

“..yeah, you were pretty distracted there. you okay?”

that single question - those two words - that was enough for tears to threaten to fall from my eyes, all the feelings i tried to push away all flooding back to the forefront of my mind, impossible to avoid.

“..yeah..! im- i’m finE-!” my voice cracks a little, a tell-tale sign. that, along with the relentless trembled in my body, slumped over due to my complete lack of energy.

“you’re a terrible liar. come on, what’s on your mind?” they reply, eyes narrowing a little in concern. despite all the clear signs they cared, that little voice was telling me otherwise. why would they care about someone like me..? someone so.. evil..?

“zooble.. do you think i’m a horrible person?” i ask before i can stop myself, and immediately regret it. they probably think i’m needy, that i don’t trust them, that i’m clingy, that—

“no, why would i think that? you’ve proved you’re a good person. is this about spudsys?”

“yes-“ i squeak, nodding at this.

“look, gangle, you f**ked up. that doesn’t make you a bad person. the fact that you feel like this on its own proves that you have good intentions. you’re taking accountability, sh*tty people don’t do that. everyone’s done things they regret. i know i have, more times than i can count. let me put it into perspective for you. say i did what you did, all the same. and afterwards, i hated myself for it, saw myself as an awful person and started isolating myself from everyone. would you see me as a bad person?” they look me in the eyes, waiting for a response, a glimmer of concern in their eyes.

“..no, of course not-!!” i begin, before getting interrupted.

“exactly. let yourself be happy, forgive yourself. you’ll never be happy if you keep beating yourself up like this.”

“..i love you—“

-

and that’s where i’m gonna end the fic becauseee im an asshole!!

reblogs are appreciated, and i take requests!!

[lavenderleahy]

In the conversation of buddie vs bucktommy, I think instead of being utterly shocked when folks ship the other thing, we could maybe consider that the show is telling both stories.

Do you really believe that every single one of the thousands of people in the other camp are stupid and media illiterate? I sure don't, and I think if you were to think about it, you would admit you don't believe that either.

Is it media illiteracy to recognize that the bucktommy breakup was open-ended and parallels third-act breakups of romcoms? No. Is it media illiteracy to notice how Buck still thinks about and cares for Tommy and therefore to hope that they might get back together? No.

Is it media illiteracy to think that Eddie looks at Buck with love during the poker date? No. Is it media illiteracy to pay attention to the parallels between Buck/Eddie and other couples on the show? No.

Rest assured, we are watching the same show, we are just focusing on different details and interpreting it differently. And the cool thing is media literacy allows for both of us to be right!

I'm just begging people to stop saying "teehee those people are so stupid and I'm so much better and right teehee." It's tired and old and hurtful and unhelpful.

Kindness is free! Thank you.

[memepocalypse]

Fever

"You're burning up."

"Jesus, you're scorching."

"You need to cool down a bit."

"I'm worried about your temperature."

"You're all sweaty."

"You look flushed; are you feeling okay?"

"Whoa, okay, you're not well."

"I got you water. Sit down."

"You can barely stand."

"I'm worried about you. Maybe we should see a doctor?"

"I got one of those rags for your head."

"What is it, feed a cold, starve a fever?"

"Do you need - food, or - do I give you fever reducers?"

"Whoa, hey, no - I think you're hallucinating."

"You're shaking like a leaf."

"I feel really weird, my head's all spinny..."

"It's so cold... so c-cold in here..."

"I'm not that warm, I'm fine, I can do it -"

"I'm just going to lay here for a bit until I stop seeing things in the corner of the room."

"Everything's all wiggly..."

"I'm not even... sick, I'm just... I'm..."

"Oh you're nice and cold... that feels nice..."

"Can I get some water? Or um... a straw..."

"Oh, my sheets are... damp, or something..."

"It's too bright in here..."

"Can you stay? Just... sit with me for a bit? Please?"

"I know I'm really warm but I just want a little cuddle."

"My skin feels like it's burning."

"Can you see them? Too? The people? They're walking around in here?"

"I'm s-so sorry -"

[emphasisonthehomo]

More Popstar!Au

For context, this takes place right before the first actual concert Buck and Tommy perform together.

Here's Buck in peak drama queen mode.

•

“Tommy Kinard, is that you?”

As Buck turns, a rail thin man with a long beard starts waving his arms like a windmill.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy grumbles under his breath, before saying louder “Artem! Good to see you man, I didn’t know you worked here now.”

Artem comes jogging over, dressed all in black with STAFF in bold letters across his chest.

“Yeah, for a couple years,” Artem says, holding Tommy by his shoulders and shaking him a bit, “Damn dude, tech death doesn’t pay shit if you’re doing this too.”

Buck bristles, and Tommy starts laughing awkwardly.

“I’m here as a favor,” Tommy says, “Last minute thing.”

“Oh really? Cool. Doing sound again? You’re late as fuck if that’s the case,” Artem speaks a mile a minute, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Buck and Eddie are both staring at him.

“No. I’m drumming,” Tommy says, easy as anything.

“For Buckley?” Artem looks cartoonishly shocked.

Honestly? Buck can relate to that. Part of him still can’t believe it. 

“Uh…” Tommy’s eyes are very wide, and they look shockingly blue under the florescent lighting as he glances at Buck. Buck just raises his eyebrows in return. Eddie looks like he can’t decide if he wants to laugh or not.

“As I Lay Dying always needs a new drummer, you don’t have to resort to that,” Artem continues, before laughing hysterically.

“I would genuinely rather choke,” Tommy says, “I gotta go dude. See you around.”

“Cool man,” Artem pats him on the shoulder, “Bye!”

Just as suddenly as he appeared, Artem is jogging off in another direction.

“Sorry about that,” Tommy mumbles, “He’s uh. He’s nice enough, but he’s… a lot.”

“Can he not see?" Eddie sounds bewildered.

“He used to do a lot of mushrooms,” Tommy explains, before speaking to Buck directly “Also I don’t think he knows what you look like.”

“My face is on a 50-foot screen in front of the building,” Buck feels obligated to point out.

“I don’t know,” Tommy says defensively, “I once saw Artem eat a live grasshopper for a McDouble, and that was back when those were only like a dollar. He’s not exactly the brightest crayon in the box.”

“What does he do?” Buck asks, anxiety starting to claw at him, “It’s not stage effects or anything right?”

“Oh no,” Tommy shakes his head immediately, “I don’t know what he does here, but when I’ve worked with him, he’s always done merch.”

“It’ll be fine,” Eddie says confidently, “I don’t think MSG hires people that can ruin shows.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Buck says bluntly.

“C’mon,” Eddie rolls his eyes and grabs at Buck’s hand and starts dragging him further down the hallway, “You need to chill out.”

“I’m going to. Throw. Up.” Buck repeats, but he lets Eddie pull him into the greenroom.

“For real?” Eddie asks, pushing the door open “Or are you being dramatic?”

“I’ll let you know if it’s ever for real,” Buck says sourly, throwing himself onto one of the couches.

Unmoved by Buck’s distress, Eddie just grabs the trashcan in the corner and places it delicately next to Buck’s knee. Buck scowls at him. It’s frustrating, but more than that it’s stupid. Buck knows he’s being difficult, but that doesn’t stop him from doing so.

“I’m going to go grab food,” Eddie says, putting his hands on his hips, “Hey? Tommy?”

“Yeah?” Tommy says, wandering into the greenroom behind them.

“Can you make sure Buck doesn’t leave this room?” Eddie says, placing a hand seriously on the top of Tommy’s shoulder.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Tommy says, looking amused, “He’s a grown man.”

“Put him in a headlock if you have to,” Eddie continues, “He’s ticklish.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Buck bristles.

“Ticklish,” Tommy repeats with a sharp nod, “Got it. And what happens when he fires me?”

“He can’t fire you,” Eddie snorts, “Bobby signs your checks.”

“I sign Bobby’s checks,” Buck says mulishly, crossing his arms and sinking low against the couch cushions, “I’m going to fire you.”

“No, you won’t,” Eddie says easily, before turning to Tommy, “You want anything?”

“I’m good,” Tommy says with a shrug, sitting down on the couch opposite Buck, “I’ll get something later. I gotta go find out where my practice pad is.”

“I’ll ask Bobby if I see him,” Eddie says, already halfway out the door.

“I wanna beer!” Buck calls after him.

Eddie flips him off without looking back, and vanishes down the hallway.

“It’s a bit early for a beer,” Tommy says mildly.

Buck doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. He makes a point of laying down on the couch and turning his back to Tommy.

“Okay,” Tommy mumbles under his breath, “You’re the boss, you sign Bobby’s checks, you can have a beer at noon.”

Buck doesn’t respond to that either. He’s so tired his eyes hurt. He feels sick to his stomach, and the show is still hours away. He forces himself to breathe slowly and tries to relax against the cushions. There’s movement behind him. Tommy says thank you to someone, and a few minutes later the muted and rhythmic clatter of drum sticks on a practice pad starts up.

It’s a sound Buck’s used to. Lucy uses one as well, though she prefers to limit her warmup to right before going on stage. Tommy isn’t Lucy, a fact that Buck is well aware of, and honestly still irritated by. The noise is comforting in its familiarity all the same.

-tatatata-tatata-tatatata-tata-

He’s a little cold, he should have thought to grab a jacket.

-tatatata-tatata-tatatata-tata-

Buck shifts on the couch and closes his eyes.

-tatatata-tatata-tat-

Buck wakes with a jerk. His face is mashed against the arm of the couch, and there’s a wet smear on his cheek that lets him know he’s been drooling. Gross.

“Wassit?” He grumbles, sitting up and rubbing at his face. A thick black piece of clothing flops down off of his shoulders, and he blinks down at it in confusion.

“Oh, sorry I woke you.”

Buck twists around to see Chimney gingerly closing the door behind him.

“‘m good,” Buck says, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

He picks up the clothing, turning the fabric over in his hands, and realizes it’s a hoodie. Tommy’s hoodie. It’s soft and well worn, the white screen printing of Tommy's band's insane logo cracked in some places.

Tommy, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

[bloodblanks]

one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter xv.

Your reunion with Mr. Scarletella leads to some heartfelt conversation.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

It was a strange thing to think that someone who was once an object of fear and mistrust had now become a source of comfort and safety. But, when amidst the darkness you were plunged in and the dread that corroded your innards, you heard your name called by an all too familiar voice, you could practically taste the refreshing flood of relief in your mouth.

You were moving faster than you could think; as soon as you confirmed it was truly Mr. Scarletella, you were searching for his figure, hands finding landing on what was unmistakably him—even in the suffocating shadows—and arms clasping around his larger frame.

You clung onto him with reinvigorated strength; that same sweet, cool taste of relief splashing over your tongue as you buried your face in the sturdiness of his abdomen.

For a moment, it was difficult to think, any coherent thoughts overshadowed by the cascading feeling of reassurance his presence brought.

“You find me,” you whispered the first time, before repeating it again—louder this time—almost as if you needed to convince yourself, “You find me!”

Mr. Scarletella was silent for a while, motionless and standing still. Eventually, he put both his arms around you, wrapping you up in a tender embrace before speaking.

“Me find you.”

Those words alone were enough for you to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. A soft, grateful sigh passed through your lips, the tension pouring out of your slackened form as your muscles relaxed.

“Thank you,” you murmured. Though the room was still shrouded in darkness, you felt yourself glowing with warmth and light.

“We leave?” Mr. Scarletella asked. You nodded against him, mumbling a soft yes seconds before you felt yourself get hoisted up, and all of a sudden you felt yourself pass through the walls—it was a sensation you were only beginning to become accustomed to—into the brightness of a corridor.

You squinted, blinking a few times as you adjusted to the change in luminosity. You felt yourself get slowly set down, though Mr. Scarletella didn’t let go of you until you were firmly planted on your feet and stopped wobbling.

You glanced up at the entity, who was embodying his characteristically eerie smile. Somehow, you didn’t feel as unsettled by it as you used to be.

To your own surprise, a small smile broke out over your own face, an exhale leaving your chest.

“You gone,” you said. “Me afraid.”

Mr. Scarletella’s hand lifted, hovering above your head for a moment. He seemed to change his trajectory, instead resting it above your shoulder, gently rubbing your upper back.

“Me here now. Not need afraid.” His words sunk into you like a comforting weight, akin to a heavy blanket draping over your body. “You safe.”

Safe, you repeated the word over in your head. You weren’t sure how to feel about it. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to feel as relaxed and undoubtedly good as you were feeling. It was likely wrong, but hell, what did it even matter anymore?

You were safe. That was the most important part of all this. You were no longer in any danger, now that Mr. Scarletella was here.

You leaned into his touch some more, once again letting your forehead rest against his abdomen as his palm smoothed over your back in a rhythmic motion. You remained like that for a while, letting the serene atmosphere wash over the two of you.

You were so comfortable that you could feel yourself beginning to fall asleep, your eyelids starting to droop as you rested more of your weight against him. If you could, you would just close your eyes then, but this was no place to sleep. And so, you forced yourself to blink away the drowsiness, slowly straightening up with a yawn.

You turned your gaze to the entity, the scarlet colours adorning him as striking as always, before you realized that he wasn’t holding his umbrella.

“Where you umbrella?” you asked, moving your hands in a motion that unfortunately bore more resemblance to jerking someone off than describing what an umbrella was.

“Umbrella...” he murmured, as if he was carefully turning the word over in his head, reciting it, memorizing it—before his gaze lowered, a somber frown on his face. “Gone. Umbrella gone.”

It was easy to tell from the solemn tone of his voice alone that this was a matter of grave importance to him, but the distraught crease of his eyebrows and tight press of his lips further solidified the matter.

“You lost umbrella?” you questioned, sympathy blooming in your chest at the sight of his forlorn expression.

As if your words had edges that cut through his very being, his face twisted in pain, and for the first time, you saw what were formerly dull, lifeless eyes now glaze over with distress.

“Me lost umbrella.” You didn’t miss the quiver of his lip, the tremble of his inhale, and the unsteadiness of his voice. He spoke softly, quietly—as if he were guilty, confessing his sins in a penitent prayer. “Me lost umbrella. Lost you.”

You stretched your arm out, holding it far above your head to reach his shoulder, your feet pushed up, your weight balanced on the tips of your toes. In slow, gingerly motions, you pat his shoulder, stroking over the sanguine material of his coat.

“You not lose me,” you stated. “Me here.”

You gazed into his watery eyes, framed by thick rings of charcoal. For a brief second, it appeared as if the tears that were on the verge of falling would finally break free, but then he blinked them away. A smile—softer, less unsettling than his usual grins—appeared on his face.

“Thank you,” Mr. Scarletella whispered. “You kind, me grateful.”

You returned the smile, letting your heels drop back down to the floor and hand fall back to your side.

“Possible we find umbrella.” You continued reassuring him, maintaining a comforting smile as you spoke. “We can search.”

To your surprise, Mr. Scarletella shook his head, a pensive look on his face. You couldn’t deny the flicker of disappointment you felt—you were hoping for a chance to leave this world.

“World not stable,” he explained. You briefly wondered just when you had taught him that word, or how he even managed to adapt to your language so quickly. “World change, danger.”

“I see,” you muttered, trying to conceal your dismay. It was as if this very dimension itself was trying to keep you confined and prevent you from escaping. You felt melodramatic thinking so, but you couldn’t help feeling like the very world was against you.

“Me change.” Mr. Scarletella’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his words instantly grasping your attention. “Me think previously me human.”

His words instantly sent your eyes snapping wide open, your lips parting in a silent gasp. To think that the inhuman, monstrous entity standing before you was once human was an unsettling thought. Yet with a singular glance at your palms where the colour of smoke had consumed the skin down to your wrists, the tragic nature of this realm was made apparent.

All the residents of this realm had once been human.

Every creature you deemed monstrous, every entity that you saw as sinister—all of them were once human, much like you. They were people with family, friends, careers, hobbies, and dreams.

Mr. Scarletella was no different. He was once a human. He was once someone, before he had become an otherworldly being, before he had become Mr. Scarletella.

You were lost for words, all language melting into a puddle and mixing with your own saliva. There was no need for you to respond, however; Mr. Scarletella kept speaking.

“Me think me become human again.”

“What?” you gasped, words immediately leaving your lips, the need to translate forgotten. “How?”

It appeared as if he understood what you were saying despite the lack of translation, as his lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows beginning to knit together, evidently displeased.

“Me move different. Move slow.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Me have dreams. See others. See humans. See me.”

When you didn’t respond, he kept talking.

“Me change. Me feel different. Think different. Change mind.”

You weren’t sure where the words came from, but they rose up naturally, as if your vocal cords had moved on their own without any input from your brain.

“You still you.”

—

In Dante’s Inferno, there were nine circles of Hell.

The very first was Limbo, a godless place for the unbaptized. The second circle was for the lustful, battering them with a vicious, never-ending wind. In the third circle were the gluttons, laying within a vile slush resulting from the ceaseless hail that railed upon them. Those guilty of greed were in the fifth circle, forced to forever push boulders. River Styx ran through the sixth circle, where the wrathful would violently clash upon its waters, the sullen submerged beneath. Heretics were confined within burning tombs in the seventh circle, while the fraudulent were divided between the eighth circle’s ten ditches, distinct from one another by the specific crime and corresponding punishment.

The Malebolge was perhaps the most intricately designed circle of them all, its bolgias all unique from one another. Seducers and panderers were made to march in lines while being whipped by demons. Flatterers drowned in a river of excrement. Simoniacs were crammed headfirst into rock, their feet exposed to flames of their own guilt. The heads of diviners and sorcerers were twisted backwards. A cauldron of boiling tar tormented all barrators, its edges guarded by ruthless demons. Hypocrites were cloaked in luxurious robes of lead and thieves were masticated by serpents. Incandescent fire blazed around the bodies of fraudulent advisors, while sowers of discord were mutilated. In the very last bolgia were falsifiers, afflicted with various diseases and ailments.

The ninth circle of Hell was a frozen lake encasing all those who were treacherous, leaving them eternally suspended within the ice. Satan himself resided here—trapped in the very centre of the frozen wasteland.

The sin of committing suicide meant that he would be in the seventh circle of Hell, transformed into a tree and assaulted by harpies. However, the place he was in did not resemble any of the aforementioned locations, nor did he for a second believe that Heaven would resemble the inside of an elevator, dull and grey.

He wasn’t sure where he was. His surroundings were strongly reminiscent of his own apartment elevator, but he couldn’t fathom why he would be here, or why he was even conscious at all.

After all, he had died. And yet, to his utter bewilderment, he was awake, cradled in the arms of an unfamiliar woman.

He peered up through weary eyes at the girl hovering above him, his eyes enlarging at the sight of her features. The first thing he noticed was her skin, a striking shade of ash and dust. Was this what demons looked like? He couldn’t tell, because she was so utterly ethereal that he could never imagine her as such.

Nonetheless, he could tell she wasn’t human, leading him to wonder briefly just what this place after death was intended to be.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through his arm. He flinched as she took his wrist in her hand, lifting his lacerated limb up to her lips, tongue swiping at the coagulated crimson caked over his flesh.

He realized then that his wrists were hurting terribly, a far too agonizing sensation for him to believe that this was anything but reality. However, if that were the case, then—

He must be alive.

He was alive, and this entity before him was the embodiment of everything he had ever dreamt of.

He knew it then. He finally understood—he had found the otherworldly presence he was searching for this entire time. It was real, after all, and the only foolish act he had committed was the one of giving up his hopes.

How idiotic he had been! To give up so easily on something that was irrevocably real, undeniably fated for him to come across. To think that he had almost died and missed the opportunity to live out the beauty of his fantasies...

Truly, he was a fool.

Ah, but none of that mattered; not anymore. Not with her noticing that he’d woken up, her hand reaching out to caress his face with an almost childlike curiosity. Not with the coldness of her fingers sending trembles down his very spine, chills running each and every ledge of bone as she traced her fingers over his cheek. Not with her beaming at the sight of him, on her face a smile so brilliant, so divine—

So you.

next chapter soon...

if you enjoy my writing, please consider reblogging; i really appreciate the interactions.

thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[velvetwyrme]

BORROWER AU???!! MY NEURONS HAVE BEEN ACTIVATED I’M AAAGDHXJCJ

I cannot wait to hear more about it I’m so excited RHDHEHE (but also take ur time with everything ofc!!! :D)

GRIPS YOU. BORROWER AU!!

It started off as being constructiprowl focused, then rapidly spiralled outwards to include jazz and soundwave hfjfjfbdm,,

the main thing stopping me from Making Stuff for this AU is that I can't decide who I want to be borrowers shfjfbdjfbfjfbdk,,, also i dont wanna draw humans BUT IT FITS BETTER IF THEYR HUMAN INSTEAD OF MECHS

ANYWAY rambling under the cut

So. there's two "main" versions of this AU (because my brain goes on wild, quick tangents) but here's the quick rundown of both:

VERSION 1

Prowl notices things going missing in his apartment. Initially he chalks it up to his annoying roommate, Jazz, but when Jazz comes to him asking about some of his bass strings that went missing, he begins to suspect something else is up.

Elsewhere, the Constructicons, a ragtag group of borrowers are trying to find their balance after the loss of their leader. Prowl is a detective, so cue a lot of silly shenanigans as the 'structies do their best to outsmart him.

They're super disorganized but they're inventive, which usually means Prowl keeps getting pranked, much to Jazz's amusement. Eventually this disorganization leads one of them to be found by Jazz :]

I like to think that Green exists in this one but shes Prowls pet lovebird who also likes the Constructicons fhfjfhkd,,

VERSION 2

The Constructicons are on holiday! Kind of. It's a holiday-slash-mandated-break and they bought a house to fix up to keep themselves busy.

Scavenger is CONVINCED that this new house is haunted, something which he is trying to convince everyone else of, very unsuccessfully.

... At first.

Jazz and Prowl are the ghosts borrowers haunting the house, and they're just trying to get by while having to make increasingly dangerous heists to get food and materials because there's FIVE guys living here now. FIVE!!!

Prowl keeps going and editing the drafts they leave out on the table, much to Hook's displeasure (Scrapper's hard work!) but he keeps finding out that the improvements are really effective... (Prowl knows what works in this weather, and he has an intimate knowledge of the house's structure, since he Lives There.) This results in a burgeoning appreciation for the Ghosts.

I like to think that Jazz is actually an outdoor borrower in this one, who stops by the house for materials and to trade with/annoy Prowl. He probably ends up singing in the vents, which echoes throughout the house and entrancing the Constructicons :] He also finds lost items and brings them round, and leaves little gifts for them.

Eventually!! One of them gets found by one of the Constructicons, and chaos ensues :3c

~~~

And NOW you may be thinking. hey Doozi you mentioned Soundwave. How does he fit in, you may ask!!!! And the answer is: he doesn't, but im forcing him in here anyway.

Option 1 is that Soundwave is a borrower living nearby who's stressed tf out trying to take care of a pair of human(!!) kids who are. absolute menaces. He's befriended a local cat and has a couple ravens that he's raised from when they were young.

Option 2 is that he's a very tired guy who works from home and has a bunch of pets. One of which brings home a couple borrower kids and welp, he's a dad now!!! Rumble and Frenzy are a literal handful.

Both options can fit really well in EITHER version of the AU,,, (but I'm always biased to having Jazz/Soundwave on opposite size scales,, i have many thoughts,,,, borrower!SW pining as he watches human!Jazz play an instrument,,)

WHICH REMINDS ME-

I also went on more tangents because I really like the idea of Human Prowl and Soundwave, with borrowers Jazz and Constructicons,,, and the matching flipside of Human Constructicons + their cool neighbor, Jazz, with tiny Soundwave and Prowl,,,,,,, like those dynamics are also really good to me and I can't decide which one/s i like most so I can actually draw stuff,,

BUT YEAH. THIS AU and its many versions HAS BEEN PLAGUING MY MIND FOR AGES and there's more character dynamics I've thought of but this is already very long thank u for reading if u got here.

BRAIN SO FUCKING FULL!!!!!!

[einaudis]

ALL OF US STRANGERS (2023) dir. ANDREW HAIGH

[sysig]

Pretty clothes for you! ✨ (Patreon)

[namelessprince]

MY BEAUTIFUL RIPTIDE OCS... their names are catalina and milo avery <3 catalina's a water genasi, and milo's a tiefling :] !!

[thcmpscns]

This is what Dayn was far more comfortable with, way more used to. After this, there was no part of him that was at all concerned with any sort of "what are we?" type of conversations, knowing that this was a one night only type of deal - and he was totally cool with that. They had all night to be stuck in here with the things outside, so this wouldn't be much of a one and done deal anyway - had to make it count throughout the night. He liked the feeling he was getting from her, one that felt confident and the imbalance of her being a guard, and him just a lowly bartender, had him excited, that much eager to do her bidding.

Maybe it was the constant looming threat of death separated only by some walls and windows. Something about it made everything that much more heightened.

Dayn sunk to his knees easily - the view from down here reminding him why it was that people were so keen to fall to religion - her hands cold, yet hot on his shoulders, feeling them through his shirt. Which was quickly pulled at from behind his neck, yanked over his head and tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder to the chair behind, the one he had sat across from her earlier. He kissed her back with equal fervor, her heels in his back pressing him ahead and keeping him grounded, to not think about what was lurking outside those walls - if they could see inside somehow through here, at least they were getting a show.

His hands each found the insides of her thighs, slowly caressing upwards, stopping high, but not quite yet where he was sure she wanted him to be. Instead they swept around, yanking her closer, so his face was nearly pressed up against her abdomen. There, over her clothes, he kissed her stomach. He kissed lower, at her pelvic bone. Before his neck would crane too harshly, he glanced up. "A little help here, if you don't mind?" he requested, voice sweet with innocence, catching whatever piece of clothing was closest with his teeth and pulling, then letting go, to exaggerate the problem.

reyna’s eyes tracked dayn’s movements, following his lead with measured curiosity. her frustration still simmered beneath the surface—having to babysit a grown man was hardly her idea of a productive evening. yet there was something satisfying, almost primal, in watching her light demands met without hesitation. control hummed at the tip of her tongue, a weight she wielded with ease. intimacy had always been a comfortable game for reyna, a mutual exchange to fill the void of idle time. vulnerable heartstrings ? those were territories she never dared venture into. physicality ? that was different. simple. tangible. moments without the burden of emotional entanglements or overthought meanings—a reprieve.

she sat still in her chair. a slow arch of her brow, head tilted just slightly to the side, reyna's gaze softened, inviting whatever came next between them. the tension was palpable, simmering like a spark waiting to catch fire. what about me... the words lingering in the charged air between them. her arm extended, index finger deftly hooking through one of dayn’s belt loops. she tugged him closer, the anticipation curling warmth through her chest, rising to flush her cheeks. simplicity reigned—a game of nearness, desire, and silent understanding.

breath caught as his lips grazed her jawline, igniting a tension she struggled to suppress. a groan threatened to escape, but she swallowed it down, determined not to yield. dayn's willingness to submit to her touch sent a surge of heat through reyna, compelling her hands to explore the hard planes of his chest, craving more — craving him closer. with a deliberate push, she guided him lower. "on your knees," she commanded again, her voice low but resolute, every syllable charged with authority. her head tilted slightly, as though savoring the lingering echo of her own words.

reyna’s legs parted, curling around dayn, enclosing the dwindling space between them. the press of their clothing was an unbearable boundary, frustrating her need for contact. so close, his breath warm against her skin, fingers mapping the curve of her waist as though memorizing her. her own hands traced the strong lines of his arms, appreciating the power beneath his skin, yet delicate with her. the thin thread of control she clung to frayed with each ragged breath, each tremor of her chest.

"i want you," she murmured against his cheek, her voice raw with need. nuzzling into dayn, seeking his lips until they met in a kiss steeped in fervor. there was nothing timid about it — no hesitation. reyna's tongue skimmed his bottom lip before slipping past, exploring, claiming against his own. one hand wove through the silky strands of his hair, anchoring him to the intensity of the moment as her body demanded more, dissolving the last remnants of restraint.

[spotaus]

Hey i am back with another thought.

Remember how ccino was unamused with nightmare bringing a serial killer home as possible knight?

Inagine his annoyance when it HAPPENS AGAIN with dust!

And dust needs like 4 magic dampers.

Nightmare just standing there: i found another possible knight

Ccino staring at the criminal: ... i will go prepare a room *leaves*

And then.

Later!

Ccino walks out to meet nightmare and stops because he sees a giant skeleton behind nightmare with a hole in his skull!

Ccino: ...

Nightmare who can feel that ccino is THIS close to snapping: ... this one isnt a criminal.

Ccino takes a deep breath. Nods. And leaves. He does not like this pattern.

And then cross gets caught

Killer: lmao. Wonder why nightmare is leaving him in the jailcell instead of just punishment

Dust and horror shooting each other knowing looks.

ccink just leaves because APPARENTLY he needs to prepare ANOTHER room now >:(

Some kids bring back rocks or plants or insects or wounded animals..

Nightmare brings back criminals. (Which is even funnier because nightmare also hires wrongly judged people as his servants).

No wonder the cats swarm the castle. It is already full of strays.

Hi I *know* you have another ask in my inbox that I need to address (because I love it to death and need to make a coherent answer that isn't just me key-smashing-) but I saw this one fresh off the send and I need to respond because this one !!!!! Is so silly but so true!!!

Yeah, Ccino is a very kind and loving soul but like. In the way parents can still get annoyed w/ their kids, this is Ccino's peev. Every single time Nightmare comes back with a criminal Ccino has to take a deep breath abd count to 5 before he can respond in any proper way. And he *knows* Night knows how worried abd frustrated he his! Because!! Of all the people to bring in when you're paranoid of getting murdered? The serial killers???

Dude I also love the thought that Dust had a couple dampeners so he couldn't harm anyone or run off, and the longer he behaves the more Night takes off. (And Night *really* wants to see Dust at his full power, but he can't risk being hasty-)

Horror, who arguably looks the most like a criminal, actually got into a heated argument with a friend as a teenager and ended up with a huge skull wound. He's actually a sweetheart! (<- to his family at least-) Ccino is just happy it's not another criminal frfr.

And then Cross.

The visual that Killer has yet to pick up on the signs of Night preparing to collect another knight is SO silly but also SO him. He's blind-sided when he's put in charge of Dust to train him for knighthood. He's blindsided when Horror is adopted into the Knights. He's also blindsided when Nightmare firmly tells everyone that Cross will be helping them. 🙏 (and then he becomes a Knight)

Poor Ccino putting up with these guys... <3

Oh yeah, stray city! Nightmare (if he did have godlike powers) definitely gives off a domain of safety for misfits + survivors. Like, Reaper's kingdom has a great reputation but. Nightmare is very specifically keen on helping people and taking care of them (even as they take care of him). So the cats, the wrongly-accused criminals, and the *rightly*-accused criminals who he thinks can change are all his now :] He attracts them like a beacon lol!