#i'm not tagging all of these people. love and light

[unforgivable-thatswhatiam]

The first real pic linked to the Finale is an act of empathy and humanity.

An act by a famous actor to a person he doesn't know, who has just lost a loved one, asking for the support of the GO fandom. Not his support, he wasn't even tagged: he was just reading the news in a fandom close to his heart, I dare say. And he sent warm words and this pic.

Not a teaser or a funny backstage photo with sunrises or wigs.

It's a simple pic of Michael as Aziraphale, yes. But not really.

All we can see is the beloved fluffy angel with the crooked glasses and a tender face, representing the good and the light, the human strength to face and overcome - without loosing themselves - unimaginable problems and suffering, like the loss and the grief of loved ones.

Something all of us have to experience, but no one is ready to face. And Michael had to do that just a month ago, and knows what that means.

I could say he's a true angel, but that's a serious post, so I don't. I'll say something better: he's a good man.

I don't know if the girl Michael replied to is also on Tumblr, but I'm sorry for her loss, and I hope the fandom's support can help her get through this difficult time. The people we love are always with us ❤️

[boxfan21093980]

notice: user @/pwease is gross and draws porn of child characters (proof under cut)

Making this post because I found out about this a while ago but wasn't sure if I should bring it to light or not. However I have decided that people should know about this because it is pretty disgusting. (I am an active member of the SP tumblr community, I am just using a different account) (also tagging as south park for reach)

So basically @/pwease has a mastodon account where they draw porn of characters who are children. I came across a link to this site while looking at fanart on another site (not expecting it to be full of porn) and was disgusted by this shit (there's a lot of it on there. so many creeps) but was shocked to find them as an active member. They even said that they knew people on other sites would find it gross so they choose to post it in a separate place. A lot of the art consists of the kids in sexual situations, sometimes even with adult characters (they even drew an image of aged up Scott Malkinson thirsting after their oc who is a child come on man)

I'm so upset and disappointed to learn about this. I used to love their art but now I just can't look at it without thinking of this shit. I have unfollowed and blocked them and recommend you do the same.

I would appreciate reblogs to help spread the word.

And before any of you idiot proshippers come and say that "ohh the show does it so it's fine" - it is meant to gross you out in the show. You are not supposed to sympathize with fictional pedophiles you fucking creeps. Just because it's fictional doesn't mean it's not still gross and weird. I have no respect for you people at all.

Proof (screenshots, link etc.) NSFW warning obviously (click at your own risk this shit is gross)

his profile

^ so you know its wrong...bro keep your gross fantasies to yourself

Some of the art in question (last one is the worst by far):

You should be put on a list.

[woundedsoul12]

Thursday Bangers 9/26

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

It's Rook Appreciation Week yall. So go to @rookappreciationweek and check out the prompts and play. I am a little behind but.... here's day 4! Let's go to the Rivaini Coast to see how Kenn Ingellvar and Taash are doing with these lyrics

It's not a walk in the park to love each other But when our fingers interlock Can't deny, can't deny you're worth it - Still Into You by Paramore

No pressure tagging @himluv @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @serensama @whispersleo @tarasmom @hedwigoprah @becausedragonage @kindlyfeline @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar @plasticfreckles @kai-dimir @teamtakagi @a-mumbling-nerd @fiberpunk027 @larknnightingale @jenn2d2 @hyperions-light @tkwritesdumbassassins @feelslikepants @trash-nerd @cute-ellyna @brennacedria @lottiesnotebook @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @operative-arrow @librivore42 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @fireheartedpup @mikylechase @bonesandivy @vime5 @notyourmamasdeerbat @griffongrey @master-of-the-elements @chaoslifeforme @carrieing0n @serstolas @beachhotdog @nirikeehan @basedonconjecture @bygonesigh @redheadsramblings @aetherflowers @in-the-drowning-deep @bonesandivy

And if you are reading this...

You

“I once heard that all tears are carried to the sea,” Kenn begins as he steps forward. His hand hanging in the air as he fights for words. Giving comfort to the grieving has never been his strong suit. A faltering his father Vorgoth often chided him for.

But this is Taash. His love. The very breath in his lungs and beat of his heart. Standing on the sands as purple colors the falling sun. Sobbing for their mother, for a future lost to them. And a past now tinged with sorrow.

“Really?” they ask as his words break through their heartache. Looking up as their eyes meet his and he tentatively steps forward. Now is his chance, and for his kadan he will not fail.

“Yep. Why I always wanted to see the ocean. I was so excited when we got to come to Rivain.” He has their attention now. Their cheeks are still stained and eyes still swollen, but they don't flinch when his fingers entwine with theirs and he gently smiles. “So imagine my surprise when I found you instead. And suddenly the waves didn't seem so important.”

They roll their eyes at him as they look out to the water. Staring off for only a moment before they hum with quiet thought. “Of course that's the death mage's reason for wanting to see all this.”

“Taash!” he exclaims as he pulls back and playfully pushes their shoulder. “I was trying to be serious this time!”

“I know,” they reply as their hand finds his once more before pressing it to their chest. “You've been really understanding through all this. So I guess I'm trying to say thanks. For being here.”

“Hey,” he says as he reaches up to touch their cheek. “You've been here for me as well. That's what people do. Love's not easy, but it's worth it. And as long as we stick together, we can get through anything.”

“Maybe,” they reply in that deadpan way. Most people would find that response annoying, but Kenn has come to adore their mannerisms over the last few months.

“Hey no maybe,” he gently chides as he leans up to hover his lips just outside of their reach. “It's the truth.”

“Like all tears being carried to the sea?” they challenge as the corner of their mouth twitches up in a grin. Falling back into their old ways under the comfort of his love.

“Exactly like that,” he replies as his lips find theirs. And as they kiss on the Rivaini sands, they are reassured that even on their worst nights, Rook will still always be there for them.

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 5: slipping away ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 5.3k (the longest yet!)

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI!!!, masturbation, ANGST, hurt no comfort, unresolved sexual tension, a ton of negative self-talk, past trauma, death (imaginatory), just lots and lots of feelings

AUTHOR'S NOTE: gonna make this a/n a bit longer than usual:

first, a huge shoutout to @theworstwolvie who has been so gracious with her time and feedback. c, your comments on the chapters so far have been a great source of motivation and joy for me, and the fact that you enjoyed reading this one before i posted it is SUCH a relief for me—mainly because of how deep i had to dig for this chapter. THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU <3

second, i haven't the faintest personal experience with alcoholism and AA, and so i resort to reading things online to understand what it's like for the little bits of it that this series contains. i stumbled upon this blog post while writing this chapter, and i just want to share it with you for how honest it is. i hope the writer is living her best life right now!!!

this chapter took a lot out of me to write (i'm bruised in many invisible places), i hope you enjoy it.

Silver and bronze.

One heavy, rectangular slab each, about as long as a remote control. Clean cut. The metallic ingots sit quietly on the shelf of the living room, plain if not for the engraving of the name of your workplace and the accolade you received.

Reflected within their monolithic shine are bursts of animated colors from the television light, dotted with rambunctious laughter that settles down into mutters of concentrated small talk.

Yukio brought her Nintendo Switch and they’re playing a party game while you watch, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Wade, Peter, Dopinder, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead—Ellie now, to most of you—are trying to “cook a cube of steak on all sides”, per the instructions of the game.

Vanessa’s behind you, her hair dipping down as she leans to giggle near your ear. The four players wrestle visibly with the controllers, moving it like they would a frying pan.

“They look like they’re jerkin’ off the air,” she covers her mouth, and you do too, biting back a grin because you see it.

When Wade first floated the idea of celebrating your win, you said no immediately.

It’s excessive—it was a team win, not your own. You’ve allowed yourself to feel proud of your achievements, specifically on the night of the award ceremony, which was almost two weeks ago. Life has gone on since then. Even at work.  

But Wade begged and pleaded.

“I promise it’s just for the first five minutes, honeybee. The rest of the night is gonna be us hanging out. Pretty please?”

Of course you couldn’t say no to that. So you relented. 

“We’re doing it at your place, though,” your ex-neighbor grinned, “a proper housewarming is long overdue.”

And Wade kept his word: nice things were said about you over toasts with raised Solo Cups, earnest despite your friends overtly not understanding what it is you do for work. After that, takeout boxes were drained dry, and Yukio asked if people were in the mood for games.

You’re watching the chosen form of entertainment play out when you feel it. A pang of loneliness, just a sliver of it, as soft as a petal landing on your hair.

Logan’s not here.

Eyes flit to the kitchen—he’s there, doing dishes. Slipping away temporarily in a way that’s familiar to you. Something in you relaxes.

Before you know it, you’re up on your feet, approaching him.

It’s been like this lately. You do your best to control yourself, to be self-aware—maybe a little too aware—in maintaining an appropriate distance with the best roommate you could as for, but you still can’t stay away.

You always look for him first when you enter a crowded room. Seek the meaning between the delicate lines that appear between his eyebrows when he tastes the food you make. Focus on the stir of his back muscles against flannel when he moves around the house. 

The moon probably feels the same way orbiting around Earth, you think. What pulls you to him is stronger than celestial gravity. 

A defeated part of you has long excused your physical attraction towards him. He is an attractive person, the internal voice reasons, nothing wrong with eating the eye candy. It’s an insult not to.

And you agree. You haven’t dreamed of him since, but once is enough. All it takes is one dream and suddenly he’s haunting all of your waking hours like a personal vendetta against you. 

He makes himself hard to ignore, whether he realizes or not. Always with the white tank tops and sweatpants. Biceps out. With any other person, you’d simply be fascinated at that level of fitness on a human body, but with him? Your mind wanders the way a child would in an amusement park. 

How are you supposed to function normally when the source of your maladaptive daydreams live five feet away from your door?

Can he blame you for slipping a hand under the blanket late at night, chasing subconscious sensations that felt so real to you? Would he despise you for pretending your fingers were his own, for lying to yourself—they’re his—the way you dreamed of? 

If he knew you gave yourself to him in secret, what would he do?

You have half a mind to think he notices—you were never the best pretender, and he’s lived with you long enough to get a bead on you. Stares poorly concealed. His every movement demands you to look: his fingers gripping a glass, how his eyes seem to change color under sunlight, the stretch of cotton over his undeniably sculpted chest… which come to think of, you still haven’t seen bare, to Wade’s surprise.

The worst part of this is that it’s not just his body. It’s more than that. More than eyes, hands, and his larger-than-life frame. 

It’s the way he looks at you when you come home from work and wordlessly take a tub of ice cream from the freezer. The way his fingers brush against yours when you reach for the popcorn bowl at the same time. And how he hugs you, warm and binding. You keep that memory filed away in a precious stack, that night he told you about his first AA meeting.

God, you miss his arms around yours. When can he hold you again?

Would he, if he knew the things you did while thinking of him?

Wade’s voice echoes in your head.

You’re really not gonna make a move on him, honeybee? Do you actually not like him?

You reply in your head. I think I’m past liking him, Wade. 

You know because alongside the dirty delusions about the rumble of his voice, you’ve started fantasizing about other things.

Things like telling him how you feel.

How it would happen—perhaps after a particularly charged movie night, or right before the mundanity of what to order for dinner. The kind of words you’d pick for him are hard to imagine, impossible to form with your mouth.

Language couldn’t contain the convolution that floods your lungs like flowers.

I want to be more than just friends. Do you? 

The way you’d cut your heart out from your chest and serve it to him on a silver plate, just to show him the way it beats. Messy and erratic when he’s around. You think it’s alright if he sees all of it, even the parts that you swear to hell and heaven you wouldn’t show anyone.

Your voice would be fraught with weakness because god knows you’re never good at declaring what you want.

And it stops short there, the fantasy.

You don’t allow yourself to think about what happens next. Whether he’ll pull you into a kiss that takes your breath away or shoot you an apologetic look like he spilled coffee on a white shirt. If the nosedive ends up in the cool waters of an aquamarine swimming pool, or broken bones on a pavement.

That line of thinking is forbidden. You know how dangerous it gets, how the less-kind voices whisper. They’ve already started, in the nooks and crannies of your idle mind.

He’s nice to you because he doesn’t see you that way.

If you tell him, you’ll make him uncomfortable in the apartment he calls home. Don’t be selfish.

He sees through you. How could he possibly want that?

So the daydreams end abruptly, a third act with no resolution other than the lucidity of a single thought. 

You just don’t want him to leave.

And if that means secretly surviving the stormy and turbulent, you’d do it. Day, after day, after day.

“I’d ask you to stop, but I’d be a hypocrite.”

The words tumble out of you quietly, standing by the sink near him. The party goes on, Vanessa’s and Wade’s laugh cutting through the noise.

He looks at you and does that huff—the one that’s not quite a chuckle, but just enough as an amused response.

“Caught me.”

“You don’t like the video game?” There’s a tinge of concern that weaves through the syllables. It’s getting rather loud and you don’t want him to feel bothered. 

“’s fine,” he replies, wiping his hands dry after putting away the last dish, “just not good at it, ’s all.” 

“You were great at the rowing one,” you smile, already replaying the fresh memory in your head.

It was rather miraculous that he didn’t swat away the offer to play in the first place. Maybe it was his soft spot for Yukio that did him in. He took the controller without a word and stared so seriously at the screen as if faced with an actual mission.

You schooled your giddy face as you watched him, stiff hand mimicking the rowing motion. Then he brought the team to victory and you were the first to cheer.

After nearly two months—god, where’d the time go?—Logan is still full of surprises, you decide. 

He shoots you a playful look, one that says I know you were looking. One that’s easy to miss, but his face already became a fluent language to you.

The Super Mario Party-induced bedlam continues to resonate mere feet away, and yet the kitchen feels like it’s just for the two of you, almost enclosed in a different reality.

You watch as he looks at you. Gentle, phantom strokes across your face. 

It’s moments like these that make you fall into that labyrinth. The maze that lies past your fantasies. It traps you into thinking that maybe, just maybe, he feels it too. Your heart aches with feelings that have no way out.

Logan opens his mouth then.

“And why are you escaping?”

You swallow, side-stepping to get to the fridge. I can’t, you answer in your head, not from you.

“I’m not. Just getting soda.”

The lightness in your voice had to be forced through the thickened air.

Can he tell? The same way you can tell what his grunts mean, if the frown on his face is one of upset or confusion, how he likes his coffee?

He watches as you cradle two big bottles of diet Pepsi, one in each arm. You try to ignore the way your spine tingles, reacting to the heat of his eyes on you.

You look at him one last time before passing him by, barely managing a smile on your lips.

He watches you walk away and digs a hand into the pocket of his jeans.

He feels it. An aluminum medallion.   

Light, the size of a poker chip, he reckons. With a swipe of a thumb he grazes its surface, busy with embossed letters, but larger words are pressed at the center. “1 MONTH”. Buried deep like a secret he didn’t mean to keep.

Windswept with the passage of time, he forgot about it.

There’s already a buzz in the air when he enters the room in the library.

Something much bigger is underway. Something he isn’t used to, much to his dismay.

It feels like the sky drops when the question does.

“Anyone here have thirty days?”

A sudden silence takes over. His head is anything but. Strange that he is so doubtful, as if he hasn’t been counting each day religiously.

He has thirty-five. Should he raise his hand? 

No, not yet. Maybe someone else hit theirs today—they should get to raise their hand first, not him, not when he feels like he hasn’t actually done anything real to get here—

Somebody does raise their hand.

Brent, he recalls. Young, a little younger than you, wearing baggy clothes and a little cowlick on his dirty blonde hair. He has a difficult look on his face as he starts to speak. The raised hand falls awkwardly back onto his lap, and then something in his eyes shines. Quiet. Steady.

“I’m Brent. I’m an alcoholic and I’m thirty days sober today.”

Pin-drop silence for a split second before the room erupts into cheers. People are clapping. Some of them get up from their chairs to embrace Brent in congratulations. The chairperson walks up to him, giving him the chip. The metal gleams red in the warm light.

What is more often than not an appropriately somber meeting, reserved in the first few minutes, dissolves into lightness and warmth. Like the shackles around each of their ankles are gone, just for the moment. Freedom in knowing that someone here—Brent—got to today, and that is enough for someone else in the room to get through their first 24 hours.  

The shift in the air seems to be enough to affect him, too. The voices in his head, the recitation of names that chant as soon as the memories creep—Scott, Jean, Rogue, Storm, Charles…—lack their bite of guilt and shame. He doesn’t feel like drowning, not like he used to. Images behind his eyelids flash, not of charred corpses and bloodied faces. Not today.

Today they smile, and he remembers fragments of his days with them, as beautiful as painted pictures.

The same image that made him cry for the first time in years.

In this room, with other faces who have gone through so much, regret doesn’t echo as loud. If his friends—no, his family—were here…

…they’d be proud of him too. He can’t lie to himself out of that fact.

He doesn’t know how, doesn’t know a part of him still remembers after countless cries since the day he lost them. But he does—hear their voice, see their smile, as if it were yesterday.

Jean and Rogue would hug him, their heads tucked in his chest and neck. Storm would, too, with a wide smile.

And Slim? Slim would be quiet for a while, gaze unreadable from behind the red visor, before finally circling an arm around his shoulder. 

Charles would be the only one with words. The warmth in those bright eyes could bring tears to his own.

We’re so proud of you, Logan.

That’s what he would say.

So a minute later, Logan swallows the lump in his throat and raises his hand.

He strokes the cool metal inside his pocket. He should tell Wade. Tell Laura.

Tell you.

He watches the living room from his spot at the island, trying to be present.

It’s your and Laura’s turn on the console. Somewhere along the way it turned into a fighting game, apparently. He can hear the banter, Laura mercilessly barraging you with attacks as a response to your playful goading.

When the killing blow plays in slow motion, you let out the loosest laugh he’s heard in a while, a hand running through your hair. Laura shakes your shoulders playfully, half-heartedly consoling you with a “of course I win, we play this at the dorms all the time”.

You sigh, the same sound that he usually hears after watching a great movie together. Entertained. Grateful. 

And then you turn to look at him, a bright smile on your face.

Did you see that? the pull of your lips seems to ask.

His heart rends in two at the sight.

This is what made him forget.

You. The greatest thing to stir up his emotions that drowned in a tar-like ocean of sin. 

Things are deceptively easy with you. A couple of conversations got you past that clumsy hump that comes with meeting a mutual friend, and after that, the road’s been highway-clear. The two of you coast like you know the way, like you’ve known each other for a while. 

Each interaction with you is a four-leaf clover, a smooth pebble, a scallop seashell—beautiful, natural little gifts that help convince him he was okay. That he no longer has to fight the world or himself, at least for the time being.

That he’s allowed to rest. 

Except he can’t.

Because in the past week, June has forced her temperature up a notch, and it has been nothing less than hellish torment. Suddenly your shorts become shorter, your t-shirts smaller, until they eventually turn into tank tops.

It’s not that he blames you for seducing him through the way you dress—you could wear a potato sack and he’d still want you—it’s his fault. He was the one who crossed that line, that night in the shower, thinking of you like that despite trying so hard not to.

You exist, blissfully unaware of his transgressions, and he’s tempted.

His eyes can’t help but hunger and he feels like a nasty animal, preying on you with his gaze while you’re around the house, a place where you feel safe.

Jaw clenching at your exposed legs as you walk around from one room to another. Hands balling into fists at the glimpse of your waist when you reach for the top shelf. Mouth salivating as you move your hair, exposing the nape of your neck.

That part of you should be so innocent, but the curve, your skin… it reminds him of the dress you wore.

It didn’t help that he bumped into you a few days ago, fresh out of the shower. You gasped when you collided into his chest and he had to put a hand on your waist to hold you steady, except he didn’t realize the only thing covering you was a flimsy blue towel.

Skin damp, smelling like a concoction of fragrances that made him want to take a bite out of you.

“Oh my god, sorry,” you breathed, escaping to your room without meeting his eyes. The door closed, and he was left alone in the hallway, accompanied only by his heart beating like it was begging to be let out of its enclosure.

It also didn’t help that he came home from work early yesterday, only to hear a buzzing sound. Too loud to be electricity. Faint and barely there, but more than enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up.

Above it, a sigh. Your voice. So soft he thought he imagined it.

Then a muffled whimper, and he knew it was real, because it was better than anything he could dream of.

His nerves jolted with hyper-awareness as soon as he registered what was happening. He could feel his body react as if it responded to yours, blood pumping south, his pants tightening.

A shaky exhale. You sounded so good, too lost to have heard him close the front door, but not at all loud, like you’re still trying to hold yourself back in case someone heard. Have you been sneaking around like this, taking advantage of the times he was away, trying to hide this from him? 

What if you thought about him when you touched yourself?

Fuck, he couldn’t believe that’s where his mind went. It was too late. Once he started picturing you picturing him, he felt dirty, but it wasn’t enough to make him stop.  

So yes, nothing helped. Certainly not you. You made it worse.

Made him picture you in your bed in a state of undress just shy of total nakedness, legs tangled between crumpled sheets, pressing a little vibrator against your clit while you slip your fingers into your folds. Made him want to break down your bedroom door and show you how he’d make you lose your mind instead of relying on that godforsaken toy.

Made him yearn.

He locked himself in his bedroom that day, hand around his cock, and thought about more than just the arch of your back when he sinks into you. Timing his strokes with your quiet gasps—perhaps hushed for human hearing, but more than enough for him—like he wanted to believe he was there with you, causing your downfall. 

A deeper need hummed incessantly through him. He should be startled at its revelation, but instead, he found it perfectly familiar. Maybe he’d thought of this from the very start.

Your face, wrecked with pleasure, cheeks flushed as you gasp up at him.

Logan, please, more.

He’d give you anything you asked for, drive deeper with the singular purpose of carving his soul into your very being. He’d leave a mark neither you or time can erase. You’d moan, lost in him, but your eyes would lock with his as you whisper, stuttered in between thrusts:

I love you—love you so much—

He came. Harder than any of the times he’s touched himself while thinking of you. Copious amounts of him spilled in his hand, on his stomach, forcing him to hold back a loud groan.

It felt wrong, his wayward mind twisting your voice to say those three words to him. He didn’t just cross a line this time, he violated it. 

What have you done to him? He thought he’d be content just living. The universe gave him a chance at redemption in the shape of a man in red tights, and as if that wasn’t crazy enough, he ended up with the cleanest slate he could get: a life in a different timeline with his friends and his daughter.  

But here he is, blood boiling with affection that laces his veins—for you. The prettiest, softest, kindest thing he’s ever seen, the person who stubbornly insists to be useful when you only need to exist for him to fall into that wretched feeling he hasn’t felt in a century.

You’ve turned him into a monster of greed, because now, living is no longer enough.

He wants you, wants to pull that laugh out of you, wants to make his shoulders comfortable enough for you to rest your head on, wants to spend a lazy morning in bed with you, cradling your face in his hands and showering kisses on your eyelids—   

“Logan? Do you wanna play?”

Hazel eyes snap back to reality at the sound of your voice.

The entire living room is looking at him. Laura and Wade look suspicious, while you still have that blameless smile on your face, holding your controller out as if it’s for him to take. 

Thoughts usually cease to exist when you look at him like that, beaming, but tonight it’s different.

Tonight he feels like he’s defiled you without having laid a hand on you, and the thoughts ring louder than ever, taking the shape of a voice he didn’t think he’d hear again.

Cassandra Nova’s.

There’s a cruel lilt to her voice, the same one he heard in the Void. That happened a lifetime ago, but it doesn’t echo—smooth and unmistakable. She’s still in there, in his head.

One good thing enters your life and you can’t keep your paws off her. Desperate pup.

You should see how you slobber all over her. A blind person could tell. I think she can, too. 

You think she’s going to kick you out? I think she’s too polite for that. She’d pretend everything was fine. That sounds like her, doesn’t it?

It feels like her grimy fingers are sinking into his brain again. As if they never even left.

He tries to shake it off, the sensation of nails scratching into the recesses of his brain. 

But oh, boy, when she finds out… a cold chuckle, give her two weeks and she’ll tell you she needs to move out for some bullshit reason, completely unrelated to you. Because she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Never. She’s too nice, isn’t she?

The sensation sucks the air out of his lungs, an out-of-season chill up his spine.

She’s only nice to you because she feels sorry for you.

For a split second, he sees your face in the rubble. Bloodied in pallor, eyes blank.

Dead.

Don’t get too close, Wolvie. You know what happens when you get too close.

Fear.

How could he forget?

Has hitting thirty days of sobriety got him cocky, got him thinking he’s worth more than he really is?

What was he thinking, planning on showing a fucking coin to you?

It doesn’t change a thing. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s killed, spilled blood that could fill up a river. Pretending like his moral ledger is not in the red, like he no longer has enemies, debt-free, all set for a quiet life? What the fuck is he doing, playing house with a woman who has her entire life ahead of her? 

You’re probably doing this out of pity, anyway, the same pity that moves little girls to their core when they see stray cats stuck in the rain. The kind that can’t stand seeing someone cold and alone, unaware of the diseases he’ll bring. The teeth. The claws.     

He jumped timelines. Who’s to say others can’t, if they want to hunt him down so desperately? And god knows they’re out there, he just doesn’t know when they’re going to come for him.

If he’s sure of anything, it’s that his past always comes back to haunt him. Always.

And that you deserve better.

“Logan? Do you wanna play?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Grunts, footsteps padding across the room until he’s situated at the furthest corner away from you.

Doesn’t even look at you.

He’s quiet that way for the rest of the night, but only to you. You’ve spent most of your life reading rooms and sensing situations—you’re fairly certain of your assessment.

He’s upset.

About what, you don’t know. Your mind jumps to the conclusion it always does. Could he be mad at you?

Something heavy and invisible begins to make itself known in your gut. He’s only a little subdued, the way someone would after a long day at work. Afflicted with a kind of tiredness that his healing factor can’t fix.

Aside from that, he seems normal. Would be, to the average person. He even exchanged a few words with Ellie. Something about Japan. Yukio smiles, an easygoing bundle of joy next to her girlfriend.

You’re in a conversation with Dopinder—if you can call it a conversation, because it’s mostly him speaking at this point. His words are lost to you as you leave the asking of follow-up questions to Peter, while you’re left retracing steps and things said to Logan, in case something landed the way you didn’t intend it to, trying not to look over at him every three seconds.

You fail.

Glancing at him, you see him already staring at you back.

What do his eyes say? In that instant, you forget how to speak their language. 

He looks away.

Suddenly it’s cold.

There’s the taste of bile in your mouth.

“Hey… you okay?”

He’s on the couch, a faraway look on his place. You step closer, gathering the guts to sit next to him—not afraid of him lashing out, but the possibility of him not wanting you there. 

He nods, unmoving even as your weight sinks on the soft surface.

You’re so used to his presence, especially here in the living room. A sacred place where the two of you are free to blend into each other. Movie nights, easy laughter on your part and a snort or two from him. Assembling a store-bought shelf together on the floor, plywood parts surrounding you in a circle like it was actually a private little bubble—you and him against the world. Having dinner with him and Laura, talking shit about work, windows open, music in the background, …   

Now, there’s a wall. The air is thick in a way that suggests a coil being snapped, and not at all in the way you would like. Your skin tells you someone is getting hurt.

And you know who is.

“I was—”

“Did you wanna—”

The two of you begin speaking, only to stop at the same time. On another occasion, you’d laugh. Not this time.

“You first,” you look expectantly at him.

He wipes his nose once, leaning forward to rest both elbows on his knees. Doesn’t look at you when he speaks, his gaze glued to the black TV screen ahead despite you watching his every move. 

There’s a prolonged silence before he finally speaks.

“I was thinkin’ of movin’ out.”

He turns his head to finally look at you.

You wonder what he sees on your face, because you don’t know what emotions are running through you right now.

Surprise, because you aren’t sure what to expect, but it definitely isn’t that. Doubt, because this whole thing is set up like a prank, except he won’t joke about this. Logan is straightforward, not needlessly cruel.

Most of all, you feel confused.

Did you get the signals mixed somewhere along the way?

The world sinks slowly beneath your feet, like your reality has been a poorly constructed sandcastle all along. Feet slipping, grains parting as you drop further downwards.

Maybe he wasn’t as comfortable as you thought he was, living with you. Maybe he didn’t like having to help you wrestle with wrenches and bolts. Maybe he only approved of the fried rice you made, and that asking him to taste test your other dishes got him annoyed. Did he really like the fried rice, or was he just trying to make you feel better about cooking?

Maybe you misread his sharing past stories as a sign of openness.

Maybe in showing him pieces of yourself you'd never shown anyone else, you created pressure instead of safety.

Maybe you hovered too close. Pushed too far.

You hear a voice from the past. Nameless, faceless, an amalgam of a few persons you no longer keep around.

You need to lay off. You’re a bit much.

God, you know you get things wrong sometimes, but this? You feel sick, the ice-cold realization submerging you.

What if you projected so much of your infatuation towards him that your rose-tinted glasses made you blind? What if, this entire time, you didn’t see him at all?  

You’re the one to break eye contact, looking down at your lap. From your periphery, you can see his hands tightening around his knees like he’s holding something back.

He continues to speak, voice measured, slightly apologetic.

“Was thinkin’ I needed privacy after all, now that I can actually afford it,” he rasps.

“Space. Just for myself. Less awkward if I… have some company over.”

Something in you cracks.

You catch yourself just before breaking in the only way you can.

He watches as you look up at him, a smile on your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I understand. I appreciate you telling me in advance,” you reply, voice level. “Do you, um, know when you’re gonna move? I need time to find a new roommate.”

“Not sure, Wade and I got this mission that’ll last for a while. I’ll look around after.”

You nod. It’s quiet for a while.

“I’ll help you look, then.”

He nods this time, voice quiet.

“Thanks.”

You get up.

“Shower’s all yours. Good night, Logan.”

“...Night.”

He watches as you turn, disappearing down the hallway, your bedroom door clicking shut.

Hands clench around the fabric of his pants so tight, his knuckles turn white. He exhales, but there’s no relief. Instead, the pain intensifies, jagged wires constricting his chest and digging into his skin. 

Fuck, he doesn’t know why he said that. That part about company, as if you didn’t already have him wrapped around your finger, as if you hadn’t been the best person to be around, as if he wanted someone else. 

Felt like cutting his tongue off the moment the words escaped him. He hates it, he fucking hates it.

Hates the look on your face, trying to be calm and considerate of him. You didn’t even ask why and he lied to you, only to watch you mask the hurt like he couldn’t see through it. He can, he has a feeling you know he can. Instead, he watches you slip back to the past, like this was your first conversation with him.

Polite.

Like whatever the two of you shared this past two months didn’t exist in the first place.      

Logan ignores the pained caterwauling in his chest. His breath won’t go down his throat, tortured and stuck.

Absentmindedly, his feet take him to the hallway, gaze lingering at your bedroom door.

It’s dead quiet, his enhanced senses picking up nothing. Somehow he thinks it’s worse than hearing you cry.

He swallows before retreating into his own room.

It was the right thing to do.

So why does it feel like he’s still drowning even after it’s done?

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx @hits-different-cause-its-you @mrfitzdarcyslover @snowlycanroc @teresas-lisbon

[mogruith]

Now that I'm home, I need to add @majorasnightmare's tags to the post:

#i can imagine being chosen to play lolth would itself constitute a THREAT#YOU CANT GET A MORE EXPLICIT ''SET UP TO FAIL'' THAN THAT#so you might even get your political RIVALS put into the position#which inversely gives them the oppurtunity to triumph above you and your schemes#in a ploy im sure lolth adores from both ends#because that dynamic entertains her no matter what#its also a fairly safe move politically too#if your rival fails she displeases lolth and is killed badly for it#however if your rival succeeds youve technically brought great honor and esteem to the web mother!#ITS SO GOOD!!!!

I wanna add these to the post 'cause they're an excellent addition. 10/10 love the idea that setting up to play Lolth would be a death trap by itself with the promise of unmatched glory - and who knows it might result in more than just favor among your people.

Some other things I'm throwing in that are tangential is the sound of it. Namely how strange (to us, the audience) it sounds.

Here's a brief description of drow music for reference:

Perhaps the strangest of drow art forms is their music. The children of Lolth enjoy strange, prolonged, wavering sounds that other races consider unappealing or even uncomfortable. These often seem atonal at first, but when combined through the proper techniques they produce a symphony of alien, haunting appeal. The dark elves possess a variety of unique instruments, including the vazhan-do, a complex lute with sixty-four strings that can be plucked swiftly for a torrent of notes, or bent slowly, producing a ghostly wail; and the ezhirkiri, a wind instrument that transforms the air blowing through it into the sound of agonized, yet strangely melodic, shrieks. Drow of the Underdark - p. 29

And there's a scene from Daughter of the Drow that describes an elaborate dance with magical enhancements:

All eyes were upon her as she began to stamp a rhythmic counterpoint to the drum. Her arms started an intricate weave, and one by one other drums joined in, as well as strange percussion instruments known only to the drow. Then a deep-voiced flute began to play a strange, compelling tune, a melody that had once been sung by elves in the Lands of Light, many centuries past. Those long-dead elves would not recognize their song; its fey magic had shifted and changed to reflect the beings who now played it. Beautiful still, the music retained all of the mystery of the elven race, and none of the joy. The drow had forgotten that emotion. But they understood pleasure, and they would pursue it wildly in an attempt to fill the unrecognized void in their elven souls. Daughter of the Drow - Chapter 5

Strange, atonal, alien, haunting. A ghostly wail and agonized, melodic shrieks. Ancient elven song that's now joyless. I think A LOT about what Drow music sounds like and I never have a good answer to this. But I think this paints a pretty good picture, at least conceptually. But I would struggle to offer up a concrete example of what exactly that sounds like.

The brain worm today is drow opera.

Yeah. Yeah, you read that right. Drow opera. [is this a thing already? If not it should be]

I've talked about Coranzan being musically inclined thanks to his mother's instruction and that he was an actor doing propaganda pieces for a while.

So naturally... My brain went to opera as a cross section of those things and now I'm obsessed with the idea. I am putting Coran in there for his pre-Surface days.

It's the perfect venue for entertainment, propaganda, political showmanship and positioning, grandeur, and not to mention the absolute sadism possible as a part of it. For the audience and the singers.

I might yap about this little by little over the day as I find pockets of time.

But. TLDR Wagner. Absolutely Wagner.

[philtatosbuck]

Who would the most mad about Damon and Rebekah? Who would support them? Would this trigger any other couples getting together?

I mean... probably Klaus? Motherfucker hates Rebekah dating anyone but especially people less than and Damon is as "less than" as it can get in Klaus' eyes.

Operating under the assumption that Elena and Damon aren't in love, Elena would be more concerned. She'd probably make more of an effort to be friends with Rebekah. If they were in love at some point, Elena would be peeved but I don't see her actually hating it or Rebekah JUST on that basis. Eventually, she'd get over it, especially if they were happy or whatever. Especially if they never actually did anything before Damon and Rebekah got together (which, in my mind, they start sleeping together pretty early on. It probably starts out of jealousy on both their ends, but the point is... nothing happens between Damon and Elena yet).

Caroline would hate it, Klaus would hate it, Elijah would definitely hate it, Stefan would be indifferent about it unless he thought he could use Damon to make Rebekah chill. I don't see anyone else reacting strongly.

As for support, uh... low on options. Alaric, ig. Maybe Meredith when she comes around.

Any other couples, I assume, you mean MFG x Mikaelson couples. Maybe Klonnie or Elena/Elijah (assuming, for whatever reason, Stefan and Elena break up regardless). That's kinda it, tbh. I'm also biased, because those are the ones I like. With Rebekah occupied, it'd be one less problem for forwood, so they would still be together. I don't think Matt was dating anyone but he'd also have one less problem.

[emiliagrant]

Buck and Tommy ♡ flirty, kinky and in love

[cecoeur]

How do you sleep at night? No one to hide behind Betrayed every alibi you had You had every chance to make amends instead you got drunk on bitterness And you still claim that you're innocent, it's sad

[flaanon]

I've actually never gotten a single hate anon (I guess I'm just so loveable) so instead of that- I'm just gonna complement y'all! Yes, all y'all (excuse my southern stupidity). Not just Zero mod, everyone else in this little reblog chain. And more people honestly... I'm about to be really sappy under the cut, feel free to ignore if you don't wanna see my sleepy ramblings about how much I love y'all.

Some of y'all are silly, some of y'all are serious. Either way though, you've helped create and develop a character that genuinely makes this lil' fandom a better place.

Cannon character blogs are giving people the opportunity to enjoy a character in a whole new light, providing more entertainment than just the games, and leading to more characterization than Activision gave us. From those who died too early *cough* Soap *cough*, to those who didn't get enough screen time, and even just characters that people love! Mods? Thank you for letting us talk to our favorite silly lil' guys and thank you for giving us what the writers never will.

Oc blogs? OHMYGOODNESSILOVEYOUSOMUUUUCH. Sorry. I just- wow? Y'all are so cool?? Thank you for going out there and showing us your creativity. I've genuinely seen oc's who I love more than some of the cannon characters. Y'all are creative and smart and genuinely awesome people. Thank you. I know the world out here is... Blegh. Especially to oc's, but the fact you show up anyways and give us your art? You made this little guy, developed a personality and character and everything, and then let us interact with them? It's one thing to develop an oc, it's another to let the world see it. I even know a few of you who've developed the character *through* the blog, letting us be a part of your creation. Genuinely, thank you so much for sharing your original character.

I love all y'all tbh. I love cannon blogs, I love oc blogs, I love anons who interact regularly, and I love anons who send one message and then disappear. Thank you all for making this community more creative and loving. Those troll messages are bullshit, just sad people who are jealous that you can actually say nice things. Don't let them bring you down, y'all are too good for them <3

Okay, I'm gonna go pass out now. Sorry if this was repetitive or cringe, I'm half asleep and proofreading is dumb and I hate it. Might set this to post in the morning, idk.

Oh- lemmie tag some friends as well: @thomas-military-rp @angelotopinopinton

second absolutely lovely post on my first day back

the hate anons have decided to return!

If you think its okay to send death threats, if you think it is okay to go around chatting shit — to harmless blogs that you could simply block — behind your little anon cover, you are gross. you are weak and unable to admit your high key jealous! sorry not sorry, its simply the truth. if we seriously both you so much, block the accounts you dont like. MUCH LIKE EVERYONE ELSE ON THIS APP.

(please tag who i dont)

@goatgoesmbe @bunnybeaches @ask-chiefkatelaswell @ghost-ask-blog @ask-alex-keller @ask-philgraves @ask-roachsanderson @ask-soapmactavish @ask-phillip-graves @soapmactavish-blog @johnpricesmother

[sodaneko]

LALECHINGO!! ; a birthday event

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ it’s bingo! and also a raffle.

let’s party!! one thing about me is that is love a little event and since it’s my birthday month i felt like hosting one :3c

so: raffle time! but you gotta play some bingo first before you can participate. lemme give you a rundown on how it works.

what's the prize?

✰ a total of three 1k (or longer) fics from me! i don’t take requests so this is a rare chance to see something specific written by me ✰ the 3 winners will receive a wishlist form from me in which they can go wild ✰ haikyuu x reader only! gender of reader is for the winners to decide, i’ll write for all of them. ✰ not limited to sfw only (that being said: mdni)

details & rules (it looks like a lot, but i promise it's easy)

✰ to participate in the raffle, you gotta fill out the bingo cards! there’s ten of them in total at the end of this post. some are writing prompts, some are for reading, some to spread some kindness. you can grab and combine any that catch your interest.

✰ 1 bingo equals 1 point. if you manage to fill out an entire card, you’ll get 10 points, so 10x your name in the draw pot for the raffle. this means you can get up to 100 points in total if you fill out all ten cards completely.

✰ it’s not first come, first serve! you got two weeks to have fun with your bingo cards.

✰ this event is mostly about making fandom a little better for everyone, whether you’re a writer or a reader, no matter how you participate in it. this means you don’t have to show me proofs how you got these bingos. putting my trust in you that you won’t cheat <3

✰ since the prizes are gonna be fics by me, i would feel better knowing you actually like my works enough to follow me. however, it’s not a must to be a follower to participate. again, it’s more about fandom than me.

✰ writers picking up the writing prompts: it up to you how you use them! can be drabbles or headcanons, small fics, big fics, moodboards, not limited to haikyuu only. really whatever sparks your inspiration. you don’t even have to publish it or tag me in it (though i’d love to see ofc hehe), this is for YOU and your inspiration.

✰ do NOT bring any ai into this. i'll rip you to shreds

✰ once you’re finished, either reblog this post with your bingo cards or send me an ask with them (i won’t publish them, just for me to keep track)

✰ i’ll draw & announce the three winners on Jan 27th and will contact them through dms for their wishlist :3

card 1-6 ; for the writers

card 7 & 8 ; for the readers

card 9 & 10 ; for the kindness

that's all! have fun ♡ - Lale

[bumblingbabooshka]

Oh, so we're all about 'I love my wife - I'd kill for my wife' guys here until it's Stonn?? My man Big Pebble????? [Patreon | Commissions]

[doubleedgemode]

Happy summer, everybody!

This has been a big project to take and while there's stuff to improve I'm pretty happy with it. Be sure to zoom in the big picture for details and read the comic from left to right. (Needless to say, please don't try A.B.A's behaviour.. For your safety)

Bonus doodle:

[shinx-stardust]

Rip my heart, still beating, from my chest, and watch me bleed out. You have wronged me, forced me to change, to give a piece of myself I never wanted to sacrifice.

[spotaus]

Hello guys! Today I'm posting a super self-indulgent lil drabble based on @ancientschampionau 's RealAge AU! (This is non-canon!! Just a silly concept!!)

This is 90% just me playing around with the idea of the boys story from the perspective of a random monster who lives in town! Light is a flame elemental who runs a small garden of their own, but mostly works for Grillby in his restaurant. They don't know nearly *half* of the gang's story, but they're fascinated by what they do learn over the course of a few weeks.

Uhhh. No proof-reading or anything here since it's just me being silly- Thank you Ancients for not minding me butting my grubby lil hands in and doin a goofy with it!

...

   The day wasn't too busy. At least, it was never too busy in town, but sometimes it got busy in the little restaurant that they called their home away from home. Grillby's was the go-to spot for everyone in town, and some nights they'd have to bring out extra chairs just to seat everyone. Those nights were always the most charming, hearing all the familiar voices of their neighbors rise and fall like waves as they recounted their weeks.

   Of course, Light liked unbusy nights just like this one too. Nights when they only had a few customers getting a drink or a late-night snack before they went home and hit the hay.

   Right now there were just a few regulars who Light recognized. A bird monster, and a dog specifically were sat not far from them on the otherside of the counter. Light was awful with names, but knew that these two were here every night. ...And they knew the two always had some sort of drama they were eager to share. Grillby was less inclined to let them spread rumors in his earshot, but Light was always curious and willing to humor them.

   "Ladies!" Light greeted the pair as they sidled up to the space before them, only the counter separating them. "How're you two doing tonight?"

   Both monsters looked up at the excitable greeting, and they both seemed to perk up a bit at Light's presence.

   "Oh, we're doing just swell, dear." The dog monster replied eagerly, her smile growing a bit. Light didn't miss how their flames reflected and highlighted the Grey that was growing around her muzzle. "We were worried we'd be stuck with your spoil-sport boss all night!" She teased then.

   Light knew everyone was fond of Grillby. He was just likable like that. So when the bird laughed a bit, Light joined in.

   "Hardly! Couldn't imagine a nice night like this without a good chance to hear the tea." Light assured them, which made them perk up even a bit more, "What do you have for me tonight?"

   The ladies looked between eachother, before the bird monster made a little sing-songy whistle. It drew Light's full attention.

   "We have a few newcomers to town!" She chimed, and the dog monster nodded her head in agreement. "They're staying with Sans at the moment. At least, that's what my son says he overheard!" She added. "That boy overheard a phone-call that nice Papyrus boy took from his brother, and it sounded sudden!" She sounded proud.

   Light had to admit, they were surprised. Normally the ladies would tell them of a new batch of sheep brought in or a baby foal being born. On the more exciting days it'd be a scandal having to do with some young strapping man coming to town, but often that just ended up being the plot of a movie they'd watched that day.

   Hearing names, though? Sans and Papyrus lived a little ways away, but Light knew of them. Hell, everyone in town knew them. The ladies had never tried to make a fake story about them, and Light was interested. New people staying in town with the brothers? Light had moved in from the city a few years back and they remembered being lucky they knew people here. If these newcomers were real, they were lucky to have the brothers to watch out for them.

   "New folks you say? Have they been into town at all?" They asked curiously.

   The two ladies shook their heads a bit, "No. Sounded like they just moved a few days ago." The bird monster answered.

   The dog monster leaned forward, "I heard from the grocery that Sans was definitely buying a few extra things, though. Seems like they'll be staying a while." She deduced.

   Light wasn't quite sure how right the ladies were, and they could tell they were going to try and dive into a guessing game that would most likely end up more insulting than insightful, so Light laughed a bit.

   "Well, we'll just have to do our best to make them feel at home, right ladies?" They insisted a bit pointedly, and recieved nods of agreement that Light hoped were genuine.

 

   They sighed, glancing around, already losing their focus as the women started thinking of exactly how many visitors there were, how they knew Sans, why they'd moved. The whole nine yards. And, admittedly, they too were curious. Light imagined they were probably just old friends stopping by to see the town before they headed on their way again.

   It felt like hardly a minute had passed when they felt a hand pat their shoulder. It jolted them from their thoughts, and they realized that Grillby was back. They didn't need him to say anything to know it was getting close to closing time, and they scurried back towards the kitchen so they could start cleaning up for the night. And among their chores, the thoughts of newcomers in town faded, overlapped by just how many dishes they had piled up.... curse their laziness.

.

.

.

   It'd been a month or two since the ladies in the restaurant had brought up Sans' new house-mates. At first Light had been sure they were temporary, but the assumptions of them staying seemed to be true. Light had heard just about every update on them directly from the ladies, anytime Grillby gave them the chance to ask.

   Apparently it was five new skeleton monsters, all of them staying with Sans. Or, Crop. They were calling him Crop now, something about skeleton naming conventions. Four of them were adult guys, and from what Light had been told, they were a bit imposing. The fifth, though? A babybones. From what they'd heard, it was a little boy that the four adults had showed up with. That kid seemed to be their pride and joy, and maybe even what brought them to stay with Crop.

   Light had seen a few of them out in town a few times, just in passing. The one with the hole in his skull was the first one they'd spotted out in the wild, helping Crop with errands. Then there was the one with the dark magic leaking from his sockets. His soul being on display was a bold choice, but Light hadn't had much time to oogle him, as he'd just been walking out of the market as Light was walking in.

   They heard a rumor about the one that always seemed serious, a red scar under one of his sockets, but Light hadn't had the opportunity to spot him yet, and they'd seen the babybones across the street once, tucked in the arms of the one who always seemed to wear a hood.

   Light really didn't like to pry into people's private lives, but there was just so much talk swirling around that it was hard to not get at least a hint of new news daily. Like, when they were shopping for a new shirt (they ripped their old one trying to climb up a tree and grab a piece of their laundry that had escaped the drying rack) they heard the shop-owner talking about how adorable the new little family in town was to the person in-line before them. When they were hanging out with some pals, their buddy said the hooded one had fixed his janky-ass cash register in just a few minutes. That thing had been broken longer than Light was in-town! And just lately they'd heard that Gerson was giving all of them high-praises.

   Of course, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. No one knew where they came from, and they didn't tell either. Some people were weary, monsters with injuries like those? With the tired looks on their faces when they weren't really thinking about it? Monsters like that surely spelled trouble... but Light wasn't there to judge. They felt like an outside observer just piecing things together haphazardly as new information was thrown their way.

   ...and then they broke their lights.

   Okay, in their defense it wasn't actually the lights themselves. Something in the wiring had fucked up while they were at work, and they came back to a pitch-black farmhouse and a shitty housemate who'd scared the hell out of them by jumping out from under the table as they passed by.

  

   N, their awful (or Funny, as she'd put it) housemate had apparently gotten back from her own work and found the house like that, and she'd changed out all the lightbulbs before sunset. But, they didn't keep matches. Or lanterns, really. And she didn't know where to find the flashlight or her phone in the pitch black, so she'd decided waiting in the dark for her walking-torch of a friend to return was the best plan.

   And, apparently, N had somewhere to be in the morning, but she'd already phoned in an electrician to come figure out where things had gone wrong and fix it by the time Light was awake to find the note she'd left about it. Joyous day, Light loved those electricians. Not.

.

   One dreamless sleep and a tired morning. Light was in the kitchen, dressed in their work uniform and tiredly shoving a piece of fresh cantaloupe in their mouth, when their door knocker banged against the wood of the front door.

   Weird, the electricians always dragged their feet. One glance at their phone revealed that this one was only a few minutes behind schedule.

   They wandered to the door, gulping down their hasty breakfast before swinging the door open, and-

   That was not a big city electrician. That was, in fact, the new guy in town with the hood that fixed Gerson's, like, entire house. Wow. Light wasn't expecting him, N could've at least warned them!

   "Oh, good morning!" They unwittingly shifted gears, turning up their energy levels a bit, as to be welcoming. "I'm guessing my friend N called you about our electricity issue?" They questioned, holding the door open.

   It felt like they towered over the skeleton. They couldn't see his eyelights from under his hood, but he seemed tired and slouched. Unenthused to be here at the very least, and at the most he seemed deeply offended by having to stand on Light's rickety old porch. His vibe check was not passing.

   "Mm, yeah. Something about the wiring." He confirmed, seemingly begrudgingly. His voice was a little... quiet? That could've just been Light, though. They were used to the loud hollers of country-folk these days.

   Light sighed in exasperation. "Yep! I'm sure she probably told you all about it, but the entire lighting set-up went dark yesterday while we were both at work." They agreed, stepping to move out of the entrance to their house, "Come on in, I'm sure you'll know better than either of us did."

   The guy slipped in past them with a slight hum of confirmation, and Light noticed the toolbox clutched in one of his hands.

   They trailed him after closing the door, and watched as he honed in on the nearest light-switch. Unsurprisingly he toggled it, clicking the switch on. Off. On. Off again.

   Something felt a bit surreal. Light was convinced this guy and the other folks Crop was hosting were something like a urban legend, or a celebrity. They'd never been so close to them, and maybe it was a bit silly of them that they'd thought the guys were so imposing. I mean, this guy was in their house, and in just a few minutes he reminded Light more of a wet cat than anything the rumors about him or his friends had conjured up.

   He seemed tired, and he did everything with this off-putting systematicness. He'd seemed fine with Light trailing him through the house, pointing out where the wiring went and connected and which switches did what. It'd just given them more of a chance to observe him.

  

   In hindsight that was a little weird, but Light wasn't exactly the most normal monster in the world, so whatever.

   But truly. This guy seemed small, and a bit thin compared to the others they'd seen from afar. He was ultra quiet, probably the quietest person in town, and even though Light never saw his eyelights, it constantly felt like they were the one being scrutinized, and not the other way around.

   And, just like that, the skeleton had hummed and begun unscrewing a lightswitch plate just outside of N's room. Light watched curiously as he peeled the old cover back from the switch, and he poked at something with a nod to himself.

   "The wires here are frayed, messed up the circuit." He voiced, and his words made Light jump a bit. The only sound for at least 15 minutes had been their steps and the crackling of Light's flames.

   "Oh, seriously?" They asked meekly, seeing as he was already pulling some stuff out of his tool kit. Wires, it looked like. Maybe electrical tape too?

   "Yeah. Rat probably chewed through it." Was all he responded with, and Light was once again left in that silent gap as they watched him work. And he was skilled, that was for sure. Light had half expected him to dismiss them so he could fuck around for an hour to waste their time like the city electricians used to, but in about 5 minutes flat he had the wires attached, and in a few more minutes the cover was screwed back in place.

   A simple flick of the switch had the hall lights on in a split second. The shadow that fell on his skull darkened, but Light was too busy being impressed by his handiwork.

   "Holy shit, they don't even flicker anymore!" They said in mild amazement, missing as the skeleton packed his supplies back up and seemed already prepared to go.

   He led the charge back to the door, double-checking each light as they went, but they all worked better than ever now.

  

   "Here, your pay!" Light suddenly broke their silence, digging into their pocket before producing a roll of cash that N had left behind. "Thank you for the help, man." They added, though they swallowed their need to offer him a cup of coffee or a quick snack. It seemed to them he wasn't compelled by the need for a classic southern-farewell.

   He plucked the cash from theur hand, slipping it into a pocket on just jacket with a mumbled 'No problem.' before he was already on his way back out the door.

   Thirty minutes or so, that was really all it had taken. He was like a spectre, in and out in near complete silence. Not abrasive, but not friendly... cautious? Yeah. In hindsight he did seem cautious.

   Light decided in that moment that they'd be asking Grillby to give that man and his friends a discount the next time they stopped in.

.

.

.

   They were really moving into Gerson's old farm. Light hadn't seen that one coming in the slightest, but when Dani had driven past them with a load of lumber in her truck, with another few following her, Light had realized they were heavily out of the loop.

   Luckily for them, their boss knew what was going on already, and he was already telling them before they got two steps in the door with the latest crate of their supplies.

   "A delivery?" Light questioned the fire monster as he heated the crate out of Light's grasp. Light was young and spry, but Grillby was miraculously strong.

   They eyed him curiously, eyes skimming his flames, listening to the crackling pops that danced away from him. Was he really...?

   "Gerson's old place? Those guys really moved in there?" They questioned, though they knew that Grillby wasn't one for gossip. He was dead serious when he said he needed them to run an order out to the place.

   Apparently, Ellie had insisted Grillby contribute to their little gathering, celebrating the new neighbors and helping them settle in for good. Of course, he'd obliged, but he didn't want to leave the restaurant unattended for too long. So, Light would be taking the orders that way instead.

   "Alright, okay!" They laughed a bit as Grillby nudged them using the crate in his arms. All the supplies were stacked out back, and it seemed all the food was ready in the kitchen.

   Light gathered the food carefully, stacking it securely in their passenger's seat as Grillby kept moving in and out of the building, each time with another load of supplies.

   And then they were off. With only a slight detour past their own place, they made it no problem to the place they were meant to be.

   ...Luckily, the crowd wasn't big, and it wasn't hard to find a place to park on the driveway. Light could see a small group gathered in front of the building, and found that a few more were already on their way back to theur trucks. The Sun wasn't quite setting, but Light hoped they hadn't taken too long.

  

   Swinging out of the driver's side, they rounded to the passengers and gathered the food along their arms... having four sure did help them with the load.

   They kicked the door of their truck shut and moved as hurriedly as they could towards a familiar bunny monster. She and her partner were the only reason they were out here.

   "Food delivery, still warm!" Light called out when they got close enough that it felt appropriate. Only once a few faces had turned did they grin and continue, "Fresh from Grillby's, he sends his regards to our new neighbors!"

   One of the few of the group that was gathered was that skeleton with the magic leaking from his eyes. Light had, once, wondered whether they were tears but had since dismissed that idea. He always wore a wicked grin whenever they crossed paths.

   It was that skeleton and Ellie who approached them, breaking off from the little group who'd seemingly been helping out. Though, Light suspected by now that it might've become a social hour as the sun kept dipping lower.

   "Huh, today is just full of pleasant surprises," the skeleton voiced as he got within rang to stop and stand before Light, "And to think this is just in time for dinner. Now Horror won't have to cook!" He... seemed to be thinking aloud.

   Ellie came up beside him, smiling at Light, "Oh I was worried that stubborn monster wouldn't send anything at all!" She voiced, "Thank you, Light, for bringing all this up here." She was already moving forward, and Light let her scoop one of the covered plates off their arm.

   "It's no trouble at all. Least I can do to return the help is ferry some food to you hard-workers." They replied easily, though they didn't miss how the skeleton was looking at them now.

   I mean, he'd been looking before, but now Light felt that same weird feeling of being watched as they had at their house. A glance revealed that the skeleton had an eyebrow quirked at them.

   "Return the help?" He questioned idly.

   Oh, right, "Yeah! Your hooded friend was a big help to me a few weeks back. Fixed up my house's entire lighting circuit in a fraction of the time the city folks usually take." They said honestly, "But, based on what I've heard I'm probably not the first one to say that." They laughed a bit.

   The skeleton seemed to relax a little. When had he even tensed? Light hadn't noticed there was any tension in his form until his shoulders slumped a bit.

   "Ohhhh, right. Geez, Dust's met half this town and doesn't tell us anything." He mused. Light just tried to file away that the hooded one was Dust. "Well, speaking of Dust, he's probably already inside with the others." He said then, tilting his head towards Ellie, "You mind fielding the rest of these guys? Meet us back inside for dinner?"

   Ellie assured this guy that she could handle it and passed off the plate she'd taken to him.

   Light wasn't exactly informed on what was happening, but the skeleton just nodded for Light to follow him, and they did.

   They passed the last few folks catching up and cleaning in the lawn before climbing some steps onto a porch. Then the skeleton swung the door open, and Light slipped in behind him easily. It felt like any other delivery to any other residents of the town. Familiar and practiced, even though they'd never even gone past the drive on this old property.

   Inside the house was a bit barren, and pretty quiet, but that serenity only lasted for a few seconds before there was a call from the skeleton who led them inside.

   "Guess who brought back the grub?" He called, recieving various voices hissing the name 'Killer' in various levels of frustration to his calling.

   Light traveled into a separate area, a kitchen/dining room it seemed, following Killer with the meal, and they suddenly understood why they had so much.

   Sat and stood in the space were the other three skeletons who'd moved in, along with Crop, Straw, and Dani. It felt like a family-reunion of sorts. The skeletons all seemed to be leveling Killer with frustrated and exasperated looks as he sauntered inside and set his one plate on the table before him.

   "Killer, you gotta be more careful, Night was trying to get in a nap." Scolded one of them quietly, the one with the red scar under his eye.

   And stood in the doorway, Light spotted exactly what he was talking about. Killer moved quick to approach the hooded skeleton, Dust, and Light initially missed what was curled up in Dust's lap. No, not what. Who.

   There, tiredly blinking up towards the approaching Killer, was the babybones. He looked so comfy tucked in Dust's arms, and Light didn't envy him when Killer leaned and gently poked at one of his cheeks. "Sorry tiny boss, but we've got dinner to eat." He seemed to quietly amend as the little guy seemed unphased by the prodding.

   Light had been a bit shell-shocked. Maybe it was the kid being so cute? Maybe it was exhaustion from a long day? Most likely it was just that they felt like a bit of an intruder on a nice family meal. Like there was an invisible wall separating them from the fondness permeating in the room.

   Of course, that wasn't the case, and their arms were still keeping a few plates Wirth of food warm as they stood idly by. Watching as the room seemed to grow warmer at the presence of the babybones reawakening.

   "Oh, Light! Should've known Grillby wouldn't come himself." They were jolted out of their thoughts by Crop. He acknowledged them, which brought a lot of eyes directly onto them. They hoped their flames didn't burn brighter in embarrassment.

   They took a few steps inside, which brought them to just before an open seat at the table. "Great to see you again, Crop! You know how he is anymore about leaving the place un-manned." They voiced, trying to shake the gazes they could feel digging into them as they expertly laid the plates across the dinner table, sliding a few down the way with a practiced arm. "Besides, I would've been bummed if I hadn't gotten to greet the newly-moved in folks properly!"

   They stepped back once the food was all arranged, but finally took a moment to meet the stares watching them. Killer seemed unbothered, already moving to sit. Dust would've likely been uninterested, but Light could see how the little one was staring at them. And the other two? The big one was alright. He didn't seem to mind once Crop had greeted them, but the one with the scar still seemed weary.

   "Of course, I'll get out of your guys' hair so you can eat, but I heard people were bringing gifts, and my farm's not in season right now, so I had to improvise a bit." They said with a nervous grin as they popped open their inventory. A moment later, a simple black vase settled in their hands, and the room was lit up just a bit more.

   They hadn't expected the surprised hum of surprise from one of the skeletons.

   "Are those flowers, but on fire?" He asked, and Light caught that it was the one with the scar. They hoped that meant they could woo him a bit and make things less awkward.

   "Basically!" The agreed. "Flame flowers, they're my speciality item I grow in my garden. They'll keep burning as long as you leave them in the sun and don't water them." They explained, before holding the little bundle of them out above the table. "They're non-flammable and the flames don't get hotter than an average spring day. The vase is stone too, better for them to last longer." They almost got lost in a rant about how exactly the plant worked, but reigned it in as they realized just how long they'd been talking.

   "Mm, they seem pretty neat. Thank you." Came the voice of the one with the hole in his skull. "Would ya mind setting them on the counter there?" He gestured towards the counter behind them, and as they turned to place them, they realized Dani had begun talking about something. Maybe them, even? But they'd overstayed their welcome.

   Dani or Ellie would get the plants back to them to get back to Grillby's, they knew that much.

   They passed Ellie on their way out, only exchanging quick pleasantries before they split ways. The lawn was dark now, vacant besides Light's glow against the grass abd trees, abd their truck was the last one, parked a few paces from Crop and Dani's trucks.

   They stopped by the restaurant to check in on Grillby, but he dismissed them for the night, so they simply went home. But, those guys... something about them was oddly familiar. Or, oddly unfamiliar? They couldn't place it, not with words, but all that really mattered was that they seemed to really have found a home here, just like Light had.

   The town, with its many faults and troubles, seemed to attract the strangest people to call it home. That's what it was meant for though, right? This town looked out for its own. Maybe that was why it felt so right to have those five skeletons now living up on that previously vacant plot after so long.

[three-headed-monster]

we're already wet (and we're gonna go swimming)

Luke fucking hates My Tie.

or, a back-door luke hughes character study

[little-whats-her-name]

"I can't hear you over the sound of the eight billion glasses and plates clinking, and the very high possibility that I'm going to lose my job, and the fact that everyone at this charity dinner hates me but we have to act nice to each other, and the weird lighting in this room, and these fucking Spanx!" - Katherine Hastings, probably