#Below 1k

[localechoes]

i will die. i will not die

[andcars]

ㅤ [ 𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗔𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗔 ]

premise. a brief introduction to the streamer who's about to ruin your life. scrolling through twitch mindlessly, you stumble upon probably the weirdest yet most arousing stream of your life

tags #ㅤdaniel ricciardo/female reader, alternate universe — twitch streamers, softcore porn streamer daniel ricciardo, suggestive content, open ending, this is more like an epilogue than anything wc #ㅤ .6k

ㅤㅤFEEL FREE TO INBOX ME FOR THOUGHTS OR REQUESTS !

| MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

Every single one of your favourite streamers is dead. Okay, not literally. When you opened up Twitch today, not a single one was streaming as expected. You scroll endlessly and try to find someone new to interact with—just the same old games and topics. You��re procrastinating every part of your life right now. Twitch needs to be your getaway, the paperwork isn’t quite fond in your eyes.

“Whatever You Say”

It’s written in a video of a man leaning back against his chair. The framing of the camera exposes his face down to his crotch—the shorts of his expose the image tattooed on his thigh. It’s almost lewd. His shirt is slightly pulled up, exposing just a bit of his pelvis and the boxers he’s wearing. It’s perverted. Holy fuck, the framing of the thumbnail and the title of the stream just wakes you up from your idle scrolling.

Clicking into the stream, you weren’t sure what else to expect. He’s laughing when you load in, only a hundred in the stream but all of them talkative. “Is that it? That’s all it takes?” he asks, looking at the side—assuming to be where chat is placed on his computer— as he smiles ear to ear. The Australian accent surprises you a little. It’s a bit thick yet understandable. He laughs again, the entire chat screaming out affirmations in different ways. “Alright,” he says, “Whatever you say. Payment first though?”

Everyone rushes a user. It surprises you when 5000 bits get donated—a whole fifty. Jesus fucking Christ. The streamer doesn’t look surprised and just claps, clearly impressed. “Good girl.” That made you feel something. Before you know it, he starts to strip. He doesn’t strip hurried, it’s teasing, almost. He adjusts his camera first, properly showing off his torso as he scoots his chair back. His eyes move from chat to the camera, gripping the ends of his shirt and tugging on it as if that would help him strip. It’s slowly pulled off, the eye contact never lessens, and it makes you feel like you’re in the room with him. His eyelids dimmer and when the shirt is pulled over him, he lets his arm stay in the air for a second. Seconds feel much longer when you’re staring. He puts his arm down and bundles the shirt together before throwing it behind and to his bed.

“See? I told you I have a tattoo here,” he points at his arm, flexing it needlessly as he tilts his body to show the camera. “And here,” he puts his finger to his chest, protruding it a little, “and of course on my hand, as you know,” he rests his hand against his pec, gripping a little to show how it flexes. Your eyes don’t leave the screen, his eyes don’t leave you—the camera either. It’s obscene how easily he goes to show off his body for the camera. The low lighting of his room is obscured by the harsh lighting by, what you assume to be, a ring light. It frames his muscles too well. It makes it look sculpted.

“You’ve quieted down,” he says, voices sultry and low. “Everyone quieted down. What’s up with that?” he asks as if he doesn’t know the truth. He lets the chat slowly talk again, only leaning back with his arms underneath his ass. He’s putting his hips slightly forward, spreading his legs more to pull up the shorts further up—the tattoo getting more visible. It’s a ship of sorts. Not like that matters, just the sight is worthwhile. He’s not saying anything. He doesn’t need to. You know he’s well aware of the effect he has on these people. It’s fucking annoying. You subscribe to him—D3R.

@delululeclerc @rtorresblog @jamie2305

FOOTNOTE ────── i was gonna put this on the patreon but it's too short for anything LMAO. this is more like an introductory post but when my requests are up again i hope ya'll request for him :p I need ideas on how to continue this hehe

[ganondoodle]

struggeling to draw anything for the totk rewrite bc i know the most popular stuff is some cool cutscenes or something and me working on detailed mechanics is mostly a waste of time :/

like i have alot of stuff worked out by now but it would take ages to draw concepts for all those new menus and mechanics when few people are interested in that- and while making a giant text post about it would be more efficient ... who the hell would read all that ._.

[mangofresca]

luminary

He isn’t sure where it comes from, but it’s an urge that rises suddenly, all-consumingly, with no hunger or warning to prelude it, like a countdown placed upon his life only seen as it hits zero—a flash of red, and suddenly every second ticking by is another second too late, another moment lost.

Lovino is smiling so brightly that the simmering heat of Agrigento’s summer seems more akin to the frigid winds of winter. He’s laughing—not a snort, not the contrite brush aside or sardonic smirk he gets when he thinks he’s being clever—head thrown back and shoulders shaking with mirth.

Alfred forgets how to speak, how to think or move or breathe, forgets everything except how to stare—gawk, his brain helpfully supplies, very obviously—regarding Lovino as if he was the one to paint the stars across the sky, to sprinkle indigo and amethyst across the midnight horizon, to use hardened hands to cradle the sun and bring lighted warmth to the world. As if he was something beautiful, ethereal, untouchable.

Except, he’s not; he’s not untouchable in the way Alfred previously perceived him to be, distanced by water and antiquity and a complex Lovino tends to wear like his own form of bastardized battle armor. He is there, right there, laughing, and Alfred wants to reach out a hand and–

And.

He’s touching Lovino’s face before he’s even thought the action through, before he’s even realized he’s done it, cupping his hand around the swell of a cheek and feeling the heat of it still flushed with laughter and wondrously-worn glee. He feels the expression under his palm calm as that smile fades, replaced instead with slowly-dawning confusion, soft in its perplexity, and he traces his thumb across the dip of Lovino’s under-eye, if only to savor the way those dark eyelashes flutter.

“Alfred?” Lovino asks, painfully sincere, with a tone that melds between a question and vague, befuddled acknowledgement. His eyes are wide. He does not move away.

“Would it be cool if I kissed you right now?” It’s a reply in the technical sense, an answer to a question that had seemingly been hanging in the air for longer than he realized. His own voice is startlingly soft considering the pressing urgency he feels tugging at his gut, his hands, his tongue, like if he can’t have this nownownow he’ll die, starved, stripped of life before he’d even realized he was bleeding.

Lovino gapes at him, blinking slowly. The cheek beneath Alfred’s palm burns warm, and he almost expected Lovino to blush, to feel skin stain itself scarlet beneath the pads of his fingers. He wonders if he should ask why it doesn’t.

There’s a moment where hazel eyes flick from his down to his lips before rising again, and Lovino makes a noise in the back of his throat like a hum, a huh, like he’s realized something about himself and the world and the universe. Like the knowledge of whatever it is has only just settled, and now he must contend with life now that he has it.

He blinks at Alfred again. “Yeah.”

He says it like it’s easy, like it’s always been easy, like permission would have always been granted had Alfred ever had the wherewithal to ask. Alfred files that away for later, wondering, not for the first time, if he missed something in the tones of Lovino’s voice, if something else existed in the recesses of cutting words and huffed musings and trite insults that were never really all that insulting to begin with. But that’s for another time, or maybe never, because Alfred never really cared to indulge in worries and preclusions, and Lovino is too good to be wasted on half-baked ruminations when the now was so much better.

Lovino says it like it’s easy, and when Alfred ducks his head down and leans in, it certainly feels easy, easier than maybe he expected. It feels like old nights spent tucked beneath the dim lights of New York speakeasies, of hushed conversations held in the stacks of his library, like something big and bright and cosmic had settled off somewhere far away, a revelation exploding in the periphery of his universe, vast and grand in its own private corner.

Lovino’s hand settles boldly on his shoulder, fingers brushing the hairline at the back of his neck, and Alfred can feel every inch of it burn through his clothes. Lovino tastes like vintage wine and the cigarette he had been smoking not ten minutes ago, and even though Alfred hates the smell, he thinks he can learn to like the taste if it’s been tempered by sweet reds and the natural soft of Lovino’s tongue brushing past his lips. Alfred feels Lovino’s cheek move beneath his palm, and he doesn’t quite get why until he realizes that Lovino is smiling, pulling away enough that they look like two kids grinning into each other’s mouths, lost and dumb and found.

“Been wanting to do that for a while?” Lovino sounds smug, but his eyes are bright, sparkly, pretty, his hand fisting the back of Alfred’s shirt.

For a moment, Alfred thinks, if you count eighty seconds ago a while, sure, but that doesn’t seem right, isn’t right, and Alfred can feel certain pieces of their histories click into place—not any sort of life-altering change, but instead something soft, the clink of a plate placed in front of him on the nights when he wouldn’t bother with sleep, the fresh scent of pasta and garlic bread the only thing to bring him back into his own body, the reminder that he existed within the scope of four walls, the person as well as the land.

Lovino is so close, close enough for Alfred to feel the tickle of his bangs against his forehead, and suddenly every word and every gaze and every laugh pulled from scowling lips all align and glimmer like radiant galaxies, all with Lovino at the center.

“Nah,” he says, grinning at the eye roll. “Just thought of it now.” But that doesn’t stop him from doing it again.

[architectsvault]

chapter 4 up! Thank you to @crypticvirago for beta-reading this chapter!

[jamespottersmixtape]

september 9: ocean 1,118 words @rosekiller-microfic

Beach day! Just them being stupid and soft and in love :,)

Evan stretches his arms and legs languidly across the beach towel he's laying on. The fabric is littered with warm sand that has long since fallen off of his body, leaving behind patches of sunscreen where it clashed with the water. He can smell the salt drying in his hair, a breeze hitting his face as he squints at the sky.

It's days like today that make Evan believe in perfection—or, as close to perfection as something can get. The weather is lovely, bright sun and a cloudless sky, a cooling wind coming in from the west. The ocean waves lap against the shore in small swells, cold but bearable for swimming in the heat, and the sound of the water is a calming lull, set to draw people into it's shimmering depths.

He can hear children laughing with their parents, splashing and making sandcastles without a care in the world. It almost makes him ache for the childhood he never got—his family too hung up on stuffy suits and formal dinners to register what their kids might want—but he's past that now. That life is far behind him and not once has Evan ever looked back. Besides, he's far too content to sit and dwell on the past right now. He'd much rather bask in everything the coast has to offer him, and continue to ignore whoever keeps shouting his name in the distance.

He smiles to himself. Everything is perfect.

"Evan!"

He internally groans and closes his eyes. Maybe whoever is yelling will think he's asleep and decide not to bother him.

"Evann!!"

The voice is getting closer now. He thought everyone went to get snacks? Who is yelling? Why are they yelling?

"EVAN!" Before he knows it the voice is directly above him, and an entire bottle of water is being dumped on his face.

He startles with a very unmanly yelp, his eyes flying open to find Barty keeled over in laughter, water bottle in hand, and Regulus standing next to him looking rather irritated. "What the fuck?!" Evan asks, wiping the dripping water from his cheeks.

"What do you mean, what the fuck, we've been calling you for two minutes," Regulus huffs, taking a small step away from Barty as he chokes out the rest of his laughs.

Evan glares at the pair of them. "Why?"

"They ran out of cookies and cream," Barty shrugs, laughter still evident in the way his eyes are lit up.

"You–" he sighs, running fingers through his tangled wet hair. "You dumped water on me because they ran out of my favorite ice cream?" Sometimes Evan can't believe he fell in love with this man.

"We didn't know what else you wanted," Regulus says flatly. Evan can tell he's trying to hold back a smile. Asshole.

Evan scoffs, getting up from his now soaked towel and grumbling something along the lines of been my friends for 12 years and can't even remember what ice cream I like.

"Look, my fucking hair is all wet again. I just spent an hour drying off and you ruined it," he pouts, shoving a finger harshly into Barty's chest; they both know there's no bite beneath his words.

Barty snorts, taking Evan's hand in his as they walk towards the small ice cream shop located right off the beach. "You should've seen your face baby."

Evan's cheeks heat at the term of endearment. He can't remember when Barty started calling him that, but one day it appeared and never left, a new staple in Barty's 'Evan vocabulary'. Evan can't say he minds, in fact he's grown rather fond of the name.

"Dickhead," he grumbles in retaliation. "You're mean."

"Mmm, but that's why you love me." Barty presses a quick and sloppy kiss to his cheek before he can duck his head.

He rolls his eyes but returns the favor. He can taste the sweat and salt clinging to Barty's skin.

Regulus interrupts with a loud gagging noise. "You two are so fucking weird," he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

—

They get their ice cream without any more hiccups, Evan settling for salted caramel instead and Barty for an obscure chocolate combination. He doesn't even know why they get their own flavors really, him and Barty always trade halfway through—but he supposes that's the fun of it.

The four of them—it's just him, Barty, Regulus, and James today—spend the rest of the afternoon in and out of the water. They sunbathe, James hits a volleyball around—even roping Barty into a game or two, something Evan never would've seen coming—and Evan manages to carry Barty's lanky frame all the way to the shoreline to toss him in. It was revenge, okay?

By the time the sun is setting the two couples are sprawled a short distance from each other, watching the pink and orange hues dance along the horizon before the stars come out to play.

Evan has his back to Barty's chest, resting between his legs with both their hands entwined over Evan's stomach. Every so often Barty presses a kiss to Evan's temple.

It's rare for the two of them to have such tender moments like this, especially in the company of others. Usually they reserve their soft touches and quiet whispers for the tranquility of the morning or weekends at home, but it's a nice change to be so open with vulnerable affection.

"Today was fun," Evan yawns, his body finally catching up with the day's exhaustion.

Barty hums in agreement. “I’m gonna get you back for throwing me in the ocean though,” he murmurs, nipping at Evan’s earlobe.

“Excuse me, that was my payback.”

“Just saying," he lulls in a sing-song voice. "You better watch your back Ev.”

"I'll be sure to sleep with one eye open."

They both laugh at that, content and serene in the little bubble they've created. Evan tries to snuggle further into Barty's chest but to no avail. Barty lets him drop against the towel, swinging himself over Evan's body so his face hovers inches above his.

Evan raises an eyebrow. Barty's grin is devilish when it breaks across his face. He leans down and slots their lips together for a quick kiss, one filled with sun and ice cream and salty air.

When Barty speaks it's low, just for the two of them. A quiet I love you exchanged between an inhale and exhale. Three words that always open the floodgates to Evan's guarded heart.

The day ends with the two of them curled up on their sides, legs tangled and clothes dusted with sand as the last sliver of light dips below the water.

Evan couldn't ask for anything better.

[kerizaret]

Ok i give up o top500 for filafever 💔 I need to save for next events

But top 1k it shall be and stay 🫡🫡 and that's good too!!

[beinghuman11235]

Woah!!! There's a thousand of you??? Following this blog?? Man it's not even a year and a half old. How???

[bambino1294]

Eat Your Young

A Time Travel Fic — Playlist

? Chapters | ? Words | Rated M

“This, however, is not the same boy she reaped the first time. He is not soft and teary, he is warped and hardened. His hands are lightly bandaged, coiled rags disappearing into his sleeves, and something behind his eyes is already scarring, already scarred. This is not the same boy she sent off to a Quarter Quell but, then again, she is not the same Escort he left behind either.”

OR

The prisoners of war try again.

[sillimancer]

uuuughh ooouuugh ooooh owww <- person who wants pho but doesn't have money

[martyreddie]

are 2.3k words still a ficlet?? or is anything above 1k just. a fic.

[hzdtrees]

Beaches

[lavenoon]

Okokok hi!

How would the boys (Eclipse included) feel about s/o 'borrowing' a a piece of clothing (like a shirt) or accessories to wear and/or making an effort to match his outfits?

Alright lets go! I'll default to "shirt" in the scenarios but the sentiment applies to basically everything lmao

Sun: Stealing his shirt to wear it out in public: For the sake of whatever is getting you out in public, lets assume he doesn't see it until you already are out and about, because otherwise, y'all would be late. He'll still fuss a little, just for show - what else is going to give him the excuse to lean down and purr a low little "darling, you could have just asked" if not the fact that your collar absolutely needs to be fixed right now? Frankly, wearing his shirt is an ego boost he doesn't need - or absolutely does. Superficially, he'll be the worst peacock about it, because there you are - wearing his shirt in his colors while out with him, immediately showing everyone you meet that you're with him. But deep down, Sun is anxiety galore, and he lives for the reassurance that you chose this, that you like where your relationship is going, and that this is what you want. He'll love to indulge, not to worry <3

Which is to say. If you so much as breathe that you wanted to match him? Good fucking luck. This man is going to be barely contained glee at the prospect of getting to coordinate outfits with you - what kind of power couple you'd be! And to think that you might even want to add to your wardrobe just to have something that would match something of his? Goodbye, he's ascended, and then returned with a vengeance because he has to treat you now, as much as he can - do you want a whole matching dress/ suit? would you want just one article to match - perhaps a jacket, or shirt, or a scarf the color of his tie? Or the more subtle claim - cuff links and collar pins and necklaces, he's all for it, and you'll have one hell of a time trying to get him to be calm about it. Have fun!

Moon: Stealing his shirt to wear it out in public: Whelp, there goes Moon! Gets about halfway through a tease before the reality of the situation hits him and he just crumbles into a flustered mess. He'd love to be smug and tease you about raiding his closet for a shirt - he usually opts for basic t-shirts in solid colors, so it's not even that special. But it's his and you chose it specifically, and now you're wearing it and once you're done wearing it it'll end up in his closet again and then he'll wear the shirt you wore and - best to not continue, he's already about to combust. Already prefers not being the one handling public stuff, so he'll let you take the lead and just turns into your backpack on legs to occasionally hide his face under the pretense of giving you a nice little head nuzzle, and some very quiet mumbles of "the color suits you, you should wear it more often" <3

Now, if you went and told him you'd want to match him, specifically? Man's just bluescreening for a second there, whoops. A fumbling mess and definitely the most low key about matching among these three, because he gets flustered to hell and back at the thought of attracting that kinda attention. He loves the sentiment, don't get him wrong! But if you keep it to at home/ the neighborhood, his processors will thank you for not overheating. However, once you express that said sentiment? He'll start just putting his nightcap on you, with more or less vague excuses or deflecting compliments of "you look cute" depending on his daily shyness level. And sorry, did the temperature just dip? No? Too bad, he's already stripping out of his jacket (while stealing a glance if you're looking) and draping it around you, because "you looked cold" - cuddle him some more, because he's currently heating up from fluster, and it'll be win win!

Eclipse: Stealing his shirt to wear it out in public: Oh my god, you've killed him to death. His casual clothes are often very baggy, and he already has to buy larger stuff to cover his entire torso. Honestly, his reaction is twofold - on the one hand, he's just melting and cooing over you, just so absolutely in love and just an excited mess that you'd want to wear his clothes. On the other hand, he's very interested in what you do with the extra sleeves. For a long sleeved shirt, they'd probably tie around nicely like a waist belt? For that extra ~pizzazz~ - or tuck them into a high-waisted skirt or pants (skirts you can also steal from his closet. I wouldn't recommend the pants). As always, very touchy about it, looking with his eyes isn't enough! Propriety be damned, you better be somewhere where cuddling is possible because that's what he wants to do, and now <3

And if you as much as insinuate that the purpose was to match him? This guy is the king of cheese and proud, and he'll wear all the embarrassing couple's stuff with you - he'll love couple's shirts (both just, normal shirts but you each get one of the same, or the "if lost return to [x]" "I'm [x]" type of stuff), he'll love matching accessories (of which he already has many, and is happy to share - all except his sun and moon eclipse necklace), key chains, anything! He loves the idea of matching, and a non-negligible part of him basks in that validation that you want to be seen with him, associated with him, and want to broadcast that to people even more than just going out with him! You aren't ashamed to love him so openly, and as someone who might get a bit self conscious if he's the only one being openly affectionate and cheesy, it's balm to his soul and he'll love to go all out!

[vonlipvig]

the thing about games is that to me everything that is above 1k pesos is expensive, but literally everything is above 1k pesos these days because what is 1k pesos anyway

[architectsvault]

1 kudo away from 1k...

[meaningtotellyou]

we’re getting somewhere… slowly… i guess