#YES I KNOW I TAGGED THEM WITH THEIR NAMES

[brokendarkfairyempressforever]

I felt so nostalgic rn like seeing all your names you used have like I remember those

well for me it was a nickname. I was known as the dark fairy queen it’s first then I changed it to empress because it sounded more powerful. My two best friends in 8th grade had magic themed names I’m still friends with one of them(besties for life) the other we still talk but stuff happens ya know?

When I got tumblr last year(wow it’s been a year already) I decided to keep the name as a homage

I added broken because well I am the forever part well in a way it is forever

Here's some lore about my username (yes there is actually lore to it)

open tags (sorry I’m tired)

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[slaytheday12]

you being a famous actress and walker gets caught saving edits of you

Caught in 4K

Being a famous actress at 16 was equal parts thrilling and exhausting. You loved acting, loved the magic of bringing stories to life, but the constant attention that came with it? That was something you were still getting used to. The interviews, the photoshoots, the premieres it was all a whirlwind.

But what you hadn’t expected was for Walker Scobell yes, the star of the Percy Jackson series and everyone’s favorite funny guy to get caught in the chaos of your fame.

It started innocently enough. You’d met Walker briefly at a comic-con event a few months ago. You were there promoting your latest film, and he was there hyping up his role as Percy. You were both part of a panel featuring young Hollywood stars, and you hit it off almost immediately. Walker’s goofy humor paired with his genuine kindness made him easy to talk to, and by the end of the day, you’d exchanged numbers.

Since then, you’d kept in casual contact—mostly lighthearted texts and the occasional comment on each other’s Instagram posts. You liked him. Maybe more than you were willing to admit. But with both of your schedules, it was hard to imagine anything more than a friendship.

That was, until one fateful Saturday afternoon when Walker decided to go live on Instagram.

You weren’t watching at first. You were curled up on your couch, scrolling through TikTok and eating a bowl of cereal. But then your phone buzzed with notifications. And kept buzzing.

The texts from your friends were frantic:

Erick: OMG ARE YOU SEEING THIS? Lydia: HAHAHAHAHA THIS IS ICONIC. CHECK TWITTER.

Confused, you opened Twitter and immediately saw your name trending. Clicking the hashtag, you were greeted with a flood of screenshots and screen recordings. Apparently, during Walker’s livestream, he’d been scrolling through his tabs, trying to show his fans a funny meme. But instead of a meme, he’d accidentally revealed his camera roll.

And there, for all the world to see, were saved edits of you. The internet had exploded.

“WALKER SCOBELL SAVING Y/N EDITS??? I’M SCREAMING.” “Not him being just like us 🥹😭.” “We lost him.”

You couldn’t stop laughing as you scrolled through the memes and reactions. It was embarrassing for him, sure, but also kind of… sweet? He’d always been one of your biggest supporters, hyping you up in interviews and talking about how talented you were. But saving edits? That was next-level fan behavior.

Your phone buzzed again. A text from Walker.

Walker: So… uh… about my camera roll. You: Oh, you mean the part where the entire internet found out you’re my biggest fan? Yeah, I saw it. 😂 Walker: In my defense, those edits were really well-done. You: Sure, sure. It had nothing to do with me being in them, right? 😉 Walker: …Okay, fine. Maybe I think you’re cool. And talented. And pretty.

Your heart skipped a beat. You tried to play it cool, though.

You: Walker Scobell, are you flirting with me? Walker: Is it working? You: …Maybe.

The conversation continued, playful and teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something real beneath the banter.

Later that night, Walker posted a follow-up story on Instagram, addressing the incident.

“So, yeah, I got caught saving edits of Y/N. And, honestly? I regret nothing. She’s awesome, okay? If you were me, wouldn’t you save those edits too?”

The fans went wild. The comments were full of people shipping you two, demanding you date, and creating even more edits.

What the fans didn’t know was that Walker had texted you again after his post.

Walker: So… dinner sometime? You: Only if you promise to make your own edits of me next time. Walker: Deal.

What started as an embarrassing moment turned into something far more exciting. Maybe the internet had caught Walker in 4K, but for once, you were glad they did.

A/N: HI thank u for the request.

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[nevadancitizen]

-> ROT IN PUREST GOLD

synopsis: you've been skipping through universes ever since you touched the source of the hexgates. through everything, you've never stopped searching for your viktor -- now, you've found him, and you just want to go home.

word count: 2.7k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship

notes: inspired by purest gold by miracle of sound. and this is my first shot at writing viktor.. lmk if i got anything wrong ^_^

It’s been years since you saw Viktor. Many years – artificial years. Years spent close, away, at a distance but still observing. But they were never your Viktor. 

Viktor with the accented voice and the long face. Viktor with the work ethic of a hive of worker honeybees, tireless and continuous. Viktor with the eyes of pure gold – never pyrite or brass with a yellow twinge. He’s always been made of the purest gold.

None of them ever could’ve replaced him. With all these alternate universes you were hopping between, you met plenty of Viktors. Some came close, but none replaced him. It wasn’t their faults; they couldn’t compete with a memory. 

You were a variable, too, so you couldn’t blame them completely. You went by different names, had different stories. Anything to make this depressing, grueling trudge through many lives more tolerable. 

Some things made things less annoying, like cars. (Well, sometimes. Sometimes they were a nuisance.) Cars are one of the things you think your Viktor would’ve liked to study. To take apart, to put back together, to modify and make better. You could see him becoming a real torque dork while listening to Speedfreaks FM. 

Mostly because that’s what he insists on listening to when you drive him to his doctor’s appointments – both of which you’re doing right now. Well, this universe’s version of him insists on Speedfreaks FM, and insists on you not calling him a ‘torque dork.’ Differentiating the Viktors from each other gets really complicated really fast, but giving them numbers feels dehumanizing. (If you did, this Viktor would be V-24. You’ve been keeping track.)

You turn on your blinker and wait for an opening to drive into the parking lot. Beneath the chatter of the radio hosts, you can hear Viktor tap his slender fingers against his forearm crutch in the passenger seat. Another difference you’ve noticed – both his outward fidgeting and his different mobility aids. 

When your turn comes, you turn your car into the parking lot. You slowly let the car drift, your foot hovering above the brake in case someone needs to cross. 

You turn down the radio a few clicks. “You think you’ll need your wheelchair?”

Viktor is silent. You take your eyes off the road for a split second and glance at him. He’s looking out the side window, at the plaza’s tall buildings and a sign that says Pueblito Plaza. 

“Viktor?” You say. “You hearing me?”

You pull into a parking spot and put the car in park. Worry eats through you – you don’t know what’s happening. Why is he acting like this?

He’s turned in his seat, looking through the back window at the buildings. There’s amazement on his face and for a second – a split second – he’s there. He’s your Viktor. 

But he’s not. He’s not. 

Those eyes are not gold. They are topaz and they are citrine. They are the yellow-orange that accompanies the sunrise. Beautiful, yes, but not yours.

“Where… are we?” He asks, his voice soft and wonderful.

“We’re going to your doctor appointment,” you say. “With… what’s her name? The pulmonologist. And then you have a CT chest scan.”

“No – the nation,” Viktor says. “What nation are we in? I have never seen technology like this.”

He runs a hand over the console of the car, then over the glovebox. He opens it, then looks inside. Nothing but napkins from fast food places and a laminated copy of your car insurance. 

“What’re you looking for?” You ask. You turn the key, and the car shuts off. 

“The power source,” Viktor says, looking at the key in your hand. “May I?”

“Viktor, you’re not cleared to drive,” you say, your voice growing sterner and firmer. “The doctors said your legs are… too weak or something – I don’t know.”

You clutch the key (and the carabiner it’s attached to) tighter in your hand. The charms hanging from it jingle and clink together. A small cog and a toy that looks like a spark plug make a metallic click as they collide.

“What is that?” Viktor reaches out, but just barely stops himself from touching the spark plug toy. You pause for a second, then give him the entire carabiner. 

Viktor holds the spark plug toy up to his face, inspecting it closely. He lets the rest of the charms on the carabiner dangle freely. You watch him – watch his eyes. A spark of gold. A fleck of cooler color in a pool of a warmer, yellowish orange. 

He sets the pad of his thumb on the hex of the toy (the hex here is a piece of metal on a spark plug fitted for a wrench – not the hex you were used to, so long ago). He wiggles it back and forth, then spins it. The hex spins with a barely-audible metallic rasp, like a fidget ring.

“It’s very intricate for a toy,” Viktor says. “Who made this?”

“Wh… you did. You gave that to me,” you say softly. “Why don’t you remember that?”

A quiet question nags the back of your mind – is Viktor getting worse?

You silently beg that you’re right. In a twisted, selfish way, you want him to get worse. You’ve taken care of Viktor before. Watched him die in multiple dimensions. In some of them, he even died in your arms, his golden eyes fading and his hand falling from your cheek.

You know what it’s like to watch him get worse. You’ve done it before, seen it before. You know what to do, how to grieve. You don’t know what you’d do if this is… Viktor. Viktor for real. Your Viktor.

“Are you trying to stifle my curiosity?” Viktor asks, a teasing smile on his face, his eyes still on the toy. 

“You gave it to me… I don’t know, six, seven years ago?” You say. You turn so that your shoulder is leaning against the car seat, facing him. “A spark plug. It’s important to the engine. I don’t remember how. And now… I’m failing your test.”

Viktor puts the carabiner down on the console. He laughs, and he’s looking at you like… you don’t know how he’s looking at you. But it’s something familiar. Something long-lost that you’ve been yearning for. 

“How could I test you on something I barely know anything about?” He asks. His smile falters a little.

“Don’t bullshit me,” you say, smiling. (His laughter always manages to make you smile.) “You know everything there is to know about cars, trucks, motorcycles…”

Viktor’s smile turns forced and confused. His eyebrows furrow a little. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about…”

And then he says it. He says your name. Your real name, your true name – the name V-1 called you. The name the real Viktor called you. 

It goes through you like a cold shock. A baptism in electrified ice water. You want to put your hand to his throat and ask, “What the fuck? What the hell did you just call me? Who’re you talking about?” 

You want to… but you can’t. You’re frozen until Viktor places a hand on yours.

You jerk it away, cradling both hands to your chest and scrunch back against the car door. “Don’t touch me.”

And he says your name again. Again, in that tone that invites sympathy, but mostly pity. He’s pitying you. You’ve gone through this too many times, with too many therapists.

“You – Viktor,” you say, his name coming out in a gasp. There’s a lump in your throat and you feel almost nauseous. 

“You’re not… you’re not the real one,” you grind out. “You’re not my Viktor, so stop acting like it. In th– in this universe, you’re just a friend, and that’s it.”

Viktor is silent, his mouth agape. “My love –”

“Don’t! Please,” you say. The words escape you before you can do anything. “Please, just don’t. Who – who told you?”

“Who told me what?” Viktor asks. His voice is still soft and sympathetic and sickly sweet.

“That you’re… you were…” You slump against the car door. Your elbow knocks against the steering wheel.

You look at him again. Your eyes dart between both of his, looking, observing. They’re not gold anymore. Well, they never really were, but now they’re… they’re opaline – pearlescent. A whole kaleidoscope in a drop. This is something different, but, still… it’s almost like you can sense him. This is the true Viktor – your Viktor. 

“I was there, Runeterra, the core of the hexgates, and then… I wasn’t. I’ve lived twenty-three lives before this. My first memory of… here… is of my fifteenth birthday party. I had to grow up all over again. Make new friends, go to a child’s school. I didn’t have anyone. And you –” Your voice catches in your throat, on both anger and sorrow. “You left me here! You left me to do this all alone!”

“I would never.” Viktor’s cold hands meet yours. He cradles them both. “I would never leave you, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But you did!” You grip his hands as tight as you can, trying to savor the feeling. Tears well at the corners of your eyes. “You left me with this… this rot. These gilded Viktors that look like you, act like you. And it hurt. Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Viktor says softly. “You’re hurting me, too.”

You blink, then realise what you’re doing and loosen your grip on his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He breathes out a soft laugh, then brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “It must’ve been lonely, all by yourself.”

“You have no idea,” you say, your voice breaking a little. You blink hard, and a tear runs down your face. “We went to an arcade, and I spent all my quarters on you. We went to a museum, and I bought you a small paperweight of a statue that was on display there. We went to this weird, exotic place – Great Britain, I think it was called – and we shared tea and scones. And, no matter what I did, it… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. It… he wasn’t you.”

“I’m here now.” Viktor gives your hands a gentle squeeze – much softer than what you gave him. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you say tearfully. “Time moves differently here. Maybe… sixty years? I’m not sure.”

“Sixty?” Viktor balks. “Oh, my love…”

His hands slowly, carefully, move away from yours. Cold fingers meet your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut on instinct, head tilting down into the touch. Viktor cradles your face, both his thumbs brushing back-and-forth over your cheeks. 

 “I dreamt of you,” you say softly. “Every night. And I thought of you every day. Just… thinking of you, every moment I could spare.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” Viktor says. 

You shake your head and lean further into his touch. “I’ve waited so long… so long. And now you’re here, and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He moves his hands, the tips of his fingers splayed across the sides of your neck and his thumbs gently pressing into your temples. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is nice, though. Just… you being here is nice.”

You lean forward, placing your hands over his to ensure they stay in place. “It felt like eternity, waiting for you. Just waiting, and longing. None of them could replace you.”

You open your eyes, just the slightest bit, and take Viktor in. Good god, he’s Viktor. He’s your Viktor. No longer the purest gold, but something new. Something better. Something life-bringing and something with infinite mercy.

“That is flattering, coming from you,” Viktor says. “You could have anyone you want – anyone across twenty-four universes. And you chose me, in every single one? That is the highest praise I could receive.”

You breathe out a laugh as your eyes shut again. “Shut up.”

“Eh… if you continue to act like this, I don’t think I will,” he teases. In a softer, warmer tone, he adds, “Your face is getting warm, too. I can feel it.”

You groan and hide your face in Viktor’s hands further. Even though you act like you hate it, you’ve missed this – you’ve missed this immensely. His teasing, his compliments that make you feel like you hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars by yourself. 

“Maybe you’re just getting warmer in general,” you say softly. “Maybe you’re getting better.”

“I have gotten better,” Viktor says, his voice light. “In our universe… I… I have touched the Arcane. I have been healed, and I am a healer. A herald into a new, better world – not only for the Undercity, but for the whole of Piltover.”

You shift his hands so that they’re resting on your cheeks and open your eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “That sounds nice. I’m… sorry you had to do all that without me.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Viktor asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I just…” You sigh. “I blamed it all on you, and I was angry. Real angry. But it wasn’t your fault – it wasn’t anyone’s. I was angry and I took it all out on the memory of you.”

“Do you really think I care?” His voice is soft as he swipes a thumb over your cheek. 

“No,” you admit after a moment. “But, still…”

“You are occupying your mind with the past and what-ifs,” Viktor says. He draws a hand over your scalp, his fingernails lightly digging into the skin there. “Focus on the here, the now.”

You shudder and melt into his hands. Your eyes, though still closed, sting with a fresh wave of tears. 

“I missed you,” you choke out. 

“You’ve said that already,” Viktor says. 

“I can’t say it enough,” you say, your voice sticky and wet. “I was your champion in the arena. I was your personal knight. I was the chieftain of your armies. I was your tool, your instrument. And you were my everything.”

“You are my everything,” he says. His tone is so sincere and heartfelt that it makes your throat seize up. “Why would you ever doubt that?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It–it’s just that, all these memories… I was so many people, and so were you. And some things blur together, and it gets hard to differentiate everything, and…”

You groan and lean into Viktor’s touch. You glance up into his eyes, still opaline. “Everything got so complicated so fast. I just wanted you – the real you.”

“It’s okay, my love.” His hands move to hold your jaw, to draw you closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I feel like I have to,” you say. “I just… I just want you back. I wanna go back to the Viktor I know. I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” Viktor says. “I can take you home.”

“Then take me home,” you say, almost too quickly. “Viktor, please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” he says. There is no teasing or hidden malice in his voice. He just wants you home, too. 

Viktor’s hands slide to the back of your head, his palms almost cradling your skull. He presses his fingers down and tilts your head forward, towards his. Your eyes flutter shut as your forehead touches his. 

It’s white. It’s the bright, cleansing light of some sort of heaven. Heaven? Haven? You’re not too sure. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care, either. Not when you’re here – not when your Viktor is in reach. Not when you can touch him, hold him, talk to the one you love. The one you’ve been pining for, fighting for, losing and winning for. From somewhere between sixty years and eternity, you’ve been wanting him. And now he’s here. Your Viktor is here. 

It’s unbelievable. Your Viktor is here. 

The memories of your past lives, the former realities you’ve lived, meld and blur into distinct feelings. Visual memories blend into base emotions. A warrior’s pride. A traveler’s wanderlust. A teenager’s excitement. A knight’s confidence and courage. A chieftain’s insecurity cloaked as hostility. 

They melt away into contentment. A gentle wave lapping at a quiet shore. Acceptance. 

You are healed. 

You are home. 

[historiawon]

WHILE THE IRON IS HOT

You, Rafayel's bodyguard, ask if you can commission him to sketch your next tattoo.

Based on this post. Can also be found on AO3 :)

Tags: gender neutral reader, getting closer (professionally as well as casually), reader is NOT an artist, rafayel is NOT a numbers guy, bickering, close proximity, lots of eye contact

Kindly read under the cut!

They say, ‘Strike when the iron is hot.’

The mantra repeats excessively in your mind as you watch over Rafayel, the person who employed you as his bodyguard. Because the current chances of Wanderers attacking the Mo Art Studio is low (never zero), you give your mind permission to wander. A little. Just a little.

Your mind wanders as far as a few weeks ago: the request at the tip of your tongue. That will later be inked to your skin.

As they say, ‘Strike while the iron is hot.’ You’re standing a few feet away from a brilliant artist. This is your chance.

You cough. “Excuse me.”  

“I have a name,” Rafayel says, as he brushes past you to rummage through his box of tools. He takes out a scraper.

“Right. Rafayel?”  

“What’s up?” He returns to his stool.

“I have a question, and please indulge me: what do you think about doing commissions?”

“Commissions?” Rafayel repeats, as he scrapes the dried pigment off the canvas. “Like, other people paying me to paint for them?”

“Yes.” 

Rafayel raises an eyebrow at you for a split-second before returning his attention back on the painting. He calculates a precise location before scraping again. “In your dreams. I don’t paint for anyone. I don’t even speed up my painting process for Thomas, even if he asked.”

“Even if it will earn you extra income?”

“And extra work! I already work hard enough to finish original pieces as they are.”

You nod and remember the instances of him submitting a painting late. “True. I suppose that your original works already earn enough to support you. . . and Thomas, ‘cause you pay him,” and me, as your bodyguard, you add as an afterthought. Wait, does he even pay me?

(You make a mental note to clarify that later; you have a more pressing concern right now.)

Slowly, Rafayel puts down his scraper and turns towards you. “You want me to paint something for you, is that it?”

“Hm.” You try to be vague. “No, I was just curious.”

“No, you’re not ‘just curious.’ There’s a follow-up question to it; I know.”

Silence hangs in the air as the two of you exchange a prolonged and loaded eye contact. Your breath hitches at the full attention. His pupils glance at your throat before looking back at your eyes.

Y/N, I know, his gaze seems to say.

Your steady look asks: You know?

With a nod, Rafayel’s expectant gaze answers, Try me.

We’re going off topic, Rafayel.  

“Ha! You blinked first!” He exclaims in victory then raises a hand as if to stop you from opening your mouth. “Yes, Y/N, I know a staring contest wasn’t what we were doing. But I know you have a follow-up question.”

“I do, but I was planning to take this slow. I know we have…” you gesture to the space between the two of you, “professional boundaries. I’m not in the position to ask for commission requests yet. It’s not even open.”

“So considerate,” Rafayel teases, but his gaze on you softens. “That’s cute.”

“Still, right?”

His ears flush pink, like he can’t believe what just happened. In a snap, he changes back to his usual self and touches his ear. “Just shoot your shot. Time will pass whether you ask me now or later.”

“My follow-up question was about if I can avail your services for an art commission. You can just draw; no colors. I’ll pay. What’s your price?”

“Assuring me straight up that you’ll pay? I like that in a customer!”

“We’re going off topic, Rafayel.”  

“Hey! What’s with the accusatory tone?” He says as he rubs his ears. The pink turns to red. “You’re no different. You went on a roundabout way just to ask me for a piece! You can just say,” he straightens his posture—highly reminiscent of your current posture that was earned from your job as a hunter—and imitates your tone, “‘Hey, Raf, can you make this for me? I’ll pay!’ Simple. Done.”

You break character and scoff. He chuckles at your reaction.

“Yes, but that was more of an opening rather than ‘off-topic.’ I’d rather know if you accept commissions or not before I ask you.”

“Why?”

“It’s polite.”

You bite back a grin when he makes a face. He apparently notices the way you hold back a smile—he glances at your mouth once and his ears turn red. Again. Redder than that dried pigment he’s been scraping off. “Whatever. I can be polite.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t.”

“It was implied,” he whined.

You adjust your expression back to a more neutral and respectful one to stay on track of the topic.

“So, how much will a sketch cost?”

“Hmm,” he looks at the ceiling and puts a finger under his jaw, which stains his skin with color. He seems too used to it to bother reacting. “Given that I’ve earned my spot in the industry, it would be, I don’t know. . . a lot?”

“Right. Do you have an exact amount?”

“Oh, cutie, I gotta be honest with you…” Eyes on the canvas, Rafayel scrunches his face with some hard-to-decipher smile. He picks up his scraper and scrapes off a small piece of dried pigment in the corner of the piece. A huge chunk of dried powder falls out. Yikes. “I don’t really know much about the numbers aspect. Will you bother Thomas with a hypothetical question? Don’t tell him I’m considering to give you a commission! I don’t wanna deal with his lectures.”

You make a mental note.

“Sure. I will do that. Do you want me to pay you directly? Since I imagine the price will be a lot, I can pay you in installments, if you accept.”

“Wow,” he drawls, tone impressed, “You thought this through.”

“Mm. I’m serious about this.”

Rafayel’s adam’s apple moves as he fixes his gaze at the canvas with intensity. “I’ll decide depending on the drawing. What do you want me to sketch?”

You imagine your budget, yet again. “Depends on the price.”

“Y/N,” he drawls. “We’re going in circles! Off-topic!”

“I was hoping you would sketch a tattoo for me.”

At that, Rafayel whips his head towards you so fast. The crack of his neck is loud enough for you to feel bad.

“What?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“Is your neck OK—”

“For—forget my neck. Off-topic,” he repeats, with his eyes almost teary on you. “Repeat what you said.”

“A tattoo. Just a small one. Under my ear.” At his stunned silence, you continue, “Well, it’s not every day that I can talk to a talented artist. I’m taking my chances and I’ll pay you, I promise. If I’m unable to pay it in full, then you can take money off my sala—”

“You—you want me to draw a tattoo?”

“Yes. For me.”

“I’ll draw it? Are you sure?” he almost chokes on his words.

“Yes, it would be an honor.”

“’An honor’—oh my god. No, it would be an honor to me. Not to you, to me.” Rafayel fans himself with his collar. “Wha—what—what kind of tattoo?”

“I was thinking of a sunset.” You feel a little unprepared at Rafayel’s reaction. His eyes are wide and mouth agape. No amount of spotlight could top the nerve-wracking feeling of someone’s full attention on you. “Like… I don’t know how that would look good, but… preferably, uh, you know those sketches that are made in a continuous line? Like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you repeat. “Does that look good? Any professional, artistic opinion?”

“Whatever you want,” his voice cracks again. You wince. “It’s a tattoo, silly. It’s supposed to be personal.”

“The mere subject is personal. I don’t mind much about the artistic style it takes to get inked on me, as long as it fits the way I look.”

“On your neck, huh…” he mutters. “I’ll help. Let’s make it perfect.”

A pause. Rafayel stands up from his stool and tears off a piece of paper from a sketchbook. “Uh, you might want to sketch what was in your mind. Then I will modify it, if you’re unsatisfied with what you made.”

“I just said I don’t mind ab—”

“A tattoo is personal. You should draw and I’ll check.”

You wave your hands away from the paper. “Ah, no! I already tried. I’m bad at drawing. That is why I need your help.”

Rafayel avoids your gaze and leaves the paper on the stool. “OK, um, I’ll be back. Let me wash my hands first—”

“You don’t have to do it now—” you say, but the man is already brushing past you to wash his pigment-stained hands (and face). He belatedly locks the bathroom door behind him, and you can hear muffled screams from where you are standing.

What’s up with him? You wonder. Is this what happens when you strike a hot iron? You didn’t think you would go this far.

_

Rafayel returns as if you didn’t hear his muffled screaming. “Who’s gonna do your tattoo?”

“I found a tattoo shop at Linkon city. They said we’re allowed to bring designs of our own.”

He shifts his weight onto one foot and crosses his arms. “And you think they can imitate my genius?”

“I hope they can,” you indulge him a compliment. His ears flush pink—you can see it with the short distance between the two of you.

“How much is it?” You ask again. “Hey, does asking for your opinion have a price?”

“Geez. Why do you keep asking me about money and prices? I literally said I’m not a numbers guy. Don’t go back to the circle, Y/N.�� He widens his eyes at you.

“I don’t know; you might be similar to a legal counselor. Don’t they charge clients per session?”

“We’re going off-topic, Y/N,” he says in exasperation. “I don’t know about other artists, but I’m not charging you for asking. Actually, you know what? Pay me with a favor instead. Don’t ask Thomas about a price! You’re commissioning me with a favor!”

The mental note in your head falls down like a ripped-out post-it. “Oh, OK! Thanks?”

“And no, my opinion is for free. You might never ask me for it again if I said it costs something.”

You shrug. “Possibly.”

“So let’s—” Rafayel looks around the room. “Sit down. Your legs must ache from standing all afternoon.”

You sit down on the couch he gestures to. It’s a little relieving on the leg area. Meanwhile, Rafayel tugs his collar with a nervous swallow as he sits next to you. In his hands are two pencils and an eraser shaped like an octopus.

“So, sunset?” He asks awkwardly.

You look at his eyes and smile. “Yes. Sunset.”

“OK. Sunset.”

“Uh-huh. Sunset. Should I get the paper you ripped earlier? And the sketchbook so it can be on top of something?” You say with hands already outstretched.

“So chivalrous,” he teases, but the frown on his face makes the teasing come off as awkward. You playfully scoff to avoid embarrassing him. “Yes. Please start.”

With the paper and sketchbook on your lap, you draw the first line.

The second. The third.

Then regret it.

“Yikes.”

“Hm?”

When you look at Rafayel, he no longer looks flustered. Replacing his awkward eyes is an intense, focused gaze. You instinctively cover the “drawing” with your palm, but Rafayel’s warm fingers pulls it back.

“This will be my tattoo.” You try to avoid feeling awkward.

He studies the drawing for a few beats. Then intently at your neck.

“Press your ear like this. I want to see the space where this will go.”

Awkwardly, you turn your head and press your ear forward to fold it.

“Is it this ear?”

“Yes.”

“Portrait?”

“Yes, portrait. I want it to be visible.”

You hold the pose for a few more seconds. Rafayel’s silence is making you feel more and more flustered. He exhales, mind in mid-thought.

“What do you think? As an artist?”

“I won’t answer that,” he says earnestly, “but do you want me to change it?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I mean, that’s what the entire conversation earlier was about, anyway. A talented artist to draw my tattoo. Hopefully.”

“I’ll make a few suggestions.”

Rafayel does not take the paper on the sketchbook away from your lap. Instead, he uses the second pencil and draws on it.

This is weird.

The warmness that radiates from him—from his close proximity with you—feels quite comforting. You suddenly remember the mattress of the bed when you used to live with Grandma. It just… it felt nice. You feel your upper body lose its tension.

Plus, you can see the violet strands of his hair up close. It’s a pretty color. Maybe violet will be your favorite color, from now on.

“Here, check this out—”

You snap out of your thoughts, but you do not make it obvious.

Rafayel created two sample tattoos, following at least two of the three lines you drew. It seems like the base for his modification drawings.

“What do you think?”

Your heart starts thumping in your chest like a lion in its cage. There’s a… there’s a rush of excitement in your stomach and in your throat. This is pretty. This is genius. Rafayel is able to turn something amateur into something great and you can’t help but be amazed. “That’s infinitely better, wow!”

“Are you sure? We can do better than that. I mean, this one’s stroke is out of line…”

“Sure, but these are pretty as they are! I must owe you a huge favor for this ‘commission,’ right?”

Something changes in Rafayel’s eyes. He looks a little sheepish. “Actually.”

“Yes?”

“I know what favor to ask of you now.”

“Tell me. Strike while the iron’s hot,” strike while we’re on the topic!

“How open are you to having me as your tattoo artist?”

[hivemuthur]

If it’s okay to request, may I request hcs or something with Viktor where he’s dating an autisc reader?

Okay, first of - I have no idea what I have done to be granted such trust, thank you so much Anon! I have been provided amazing advice from @rennethen while writing this and done some research and I hope, I hope, I hope it meets expectations.

ViktorXAutistic!Reader HeadCannons

viktorxgn!reader mature, fluff and again: Viktor setting impossible standards for real-life men

author’s note: I have decided to not include tics, as they come in so many variations and I didn't want to impose anything upon Readers, but I can imagine Viktor being a total sweetheart about them.

word count: 1,4K

—

Since your first meeting, Viktor has been smitten with your bluntness and your ability to take his acrimonious jokes apart without a hint of incredulity in your voice. The way you keep asking subsidiary questions until you dig through the layers of his sass to the actual thing he meant to say  leaves his soul naked as day, every single time. Finally, an inquisitive mind, he thinks to himself, as you go for the killing blow:

“So, what you’ve meant to say is that you find me attractive?”

“Eh, I suppose that is what I meant,” he admits dumbly, scratching the back of his neck. “Though usually I tend to be a little bit less straight forward.”

“I prefer straight forward,” you tell him with wide eyes.

“I… I shall remember that.”

Viktor soon realises that being asked a lot of questions makes him blush in a funny way and his chest gets all fuzzy. So, he begins to share every little aspect of his work with you. The more questions you ask, the warmer his heart gets and somehow the way you get excited about his ideas is worth more than any other academical pat on the back he ever received.

Before asking you out for the first time, Viktor conducts a thorough research, not very different to the ones he conducts for the sake of a thesis. He finds out what are your favourite places and favourite spots to sit. He books two reservations, just in case.

He does the same thing when you try out a new place. Just in case. It has proven useful only once.

As a man who values routine, he finds it absolutely endearing that good things remain in your orbit for a long time and discovers that being greeted with his own name by the barista is actually a nice little feeling.

When he asked you if he could kiss you for the first time, he held his breath while you were reconsidering. He found it hard not to laugh stupidly and nod his head a couple times too many when you responded with the same question.

He cupped your face and brushed his thumb on your lip tentatively. At first, he just rubbed his nose against yours. Then, his cheek, as he pulled you closer. You decided his hair smelled nice and that he could proceed. You didn’t know what to do with your hands at first, because he was wearing an incredibly itchy jumper, so you settled on his neck, and he took it as an invitation to kiss you deeper.

When you told him about it he gave the jumper to Caitlyn, and even though the sleeves are not long enough for her, she wears it often. Gradually, Viktor is in the process of exchanging his wardrobe to touch-friendly materials, currently he is half-way through. He wears the offensive clothes to meetings with Jayce, because Jayce will hug even a hedgehog.

You teach Viktor the value of comfort, not just in the clothing department. Suddenly he finds that his blankets are softer and that his flat increased the base number of cushions.

He religiously cuts the tags out of your clothes and his work is so precise it’s as if the tag was never there in the first place.

Viktor will still periodically ask for a permission to touch you, only to hear “Yes, please.” And it still makes him blush.

He keeps two notebooks—one on your current food fixations. He writes down a start date of each and marks every little alteration. He examines the lifecycle of each dish, as you eat it every day for a month and suddenly stop, to move on to the next one. On the back of the notebook he has a list of old reliables.

The second notebook, he treats more seriously—it’s a journal of stimming. He makes a note of each gesture in order to recognize your emotions better. After a while he is able to tell if you are feeling overwhelmed, just excited or trying to concentrate.

He is completely bemused by the fact that you always know what entered the bowl first—the cereal or the milk.

When you unconsciously repeat words back at him in his accent he makes it intentionally heavier, because he finds in unbearably cute.

After some time, he’s learned to recognise when you are masking. When it happened for the first time, he allowed himself a pinch of panic. Only when you unravelled at home, he sighed, partially relieved, and made a note of it in his journal.

Viktor carries a pair of noise cancelling headphones when you go out together. He puts them on you if you get overstimulated and presents you with something else to shift your focus into—a tight hug, a smell or he presses gently on your shoulders to steady you.

If you happen to have a meltdown at either of your homes, he wordlessly prepares you your favourite food and stays close enough for you to reach. Sometimes, he does a full body scan with you, to see which part requires the most attention.

There are certain sounds that Viktor makes which you particularly like—the click of his tongue, the intercepting ‘ehs’ and ‘ahs’—and once he connects the dots between him making those and a smile that always blooms on your face, he produces as many as he can, while still sounding natural.

He enjoys just existing with you. Sitting in the same room, while he works, and you read is his definition of a happy place. Just glancing over to you, your tongue filling your cheek as you read something particularly interesting, the small sounds you make at turning points in the story make his heart flutter.

He finds himself involuntarily memorizing the lyrics of the songs you play on repeat. He has no idea who the artist are, but he knows their songs by heart now. It makes him feel old, in a funny way.

It completely disarms him, when you return his gifts. After three futile attempts to give you something of popular romantic demand, he scolded himself for not changing the method soon enough. Instead of jewellery, he encourages your special interests, through getting you books on the topics or taking you places that embody your passions.

On the other side of the coin, your gifts are deeply appreciated. Every little pebbling trinket has it’s special place in the box on his desk. He takes them out periodically and counts how many times a tiny detail in the chaos of the outside world has made you think of him.

For dates, Viktor chooses times and days in which the world is less crowded. Instead of a busy Saturday night, you go out in the middle of the week. After a particularly failed attempt of gifting you perfume, Viktor takes you to a balm perfume workshop, where you can make scents for each other that are buildable and unoffensive to sensitive skin.

He’s built an intimacy with you that is based on trust and constant checking. He takes care of the mood and gives you enough stops to reconsider on the way.

You both talk a lot during sex. A change of mind is natural and there is enough space made for it. He has learned a lot about himself, and his self-esteem strengthened, when he realised that, ‘I don’t like it,’ doesn’t mean ‘I don’t like you.’

If, for whatever reason, the communication turns nonverbal, you both have come up with a system of pats that signals where each of you should direct your attention.

Your inquisitive mind helped him find three additional positions, in which he feels comfortable and painless, and it eludes him entirely how he could have missed them.

Viktor’s favourite part of aftercare is cuddling you naked. He adores the way your warm body melts into his. If you add head scratches to it, he will fall asleep in your arms. He breaths in the smell of your hair and his heart beat evens out with yours.

[lacyscabinet]

reader and ellie williams dating and reader meeting joel for the first time

A/N: HELLO THERE! This is not my best work but stilllllll I wanted to post something, not proofread<3 I'm a little late sorry😞 this was supposed to come out yesterday but I fell asleep on my desk and forgot to press post😭😭😭🙏🏼🙏🏼 begging on my knees for forgiveness, I hope you enjoy<3

NAVIGATION

VERY SHORT. MORE LIKE A BLURB.

TW: DAD JOKES.

MEETING JOEL

Joel. It's just Joel. Ellie talked about him so much it's almost like you know him already, come on, how hard could it possibly-

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks, placing a hand on your shoulder while simultaneously cleaning it from the snow that had settled on your jacket as you two stood outside the porch. It's not like she wasn't at least a little nervous as well, she really wanted her two worlds to blend, and she wasn't completely sure about what Joel's reaction would be, after all, she has never brought someone like you around him before.

"Yes..." You look up at her and smile gently, trying to be brave about this "All good, should we...knock?"

Ellie nods as she keeps her arm around your waist as she walks up the porch, then her bruised and cold knuckles bump against the worn down wooden door, patiently waiting for someone to open it.

Soon enough, a bearded man cracked the door open, a smile plastered on his face as he welcomed you guys into his home. The house was warm, a record muffled by the sound of the crackling fireplace played on his old record player, the dinner table was all ready to sit down and eat whatever he had cooked, and considering the warm scent that floated through the house, it must've been something tasty. He hugs Ellie once he closes the door, and then turns back to you.

"Finally putting a face to the name!" He says, his voice doesn't sound judgmental at all and he introduces himself right after, extending his hand to shake yours.

All throughout, you can feel Ellie's eyes on you, she's probably smiling, watching you two interact and praying that everything will go the right way. Ellie knows he’s been through enough with the world falling apart, and letting someone new into his circle isn’t easy, but so far, everything was going amazingly.

Just as predicted, dinner was amazing: Ellie sat right next to you while Joel stood in front of you, asking questions about you, about your relationship with Ellie. She subtly checks in with you, just a glance, or a quick touch of your hand to reassure you that she’s there. Her thumb runs over your knuckles, soft and comforting, as if to say: “I’ve got this.” You’re still a little nervous meeting Joel, but the feeling of Ellie beside you is grounding, and he has been nothing but kid with you so far. Everything was flowing seamlessly, until...

"Hey girls, listen" he said all of a sudden as he stabbed a carrot with his fork. Ellie looked up at him curiously, her hand resting on your thigh under the table.

"Do you guys want to know my favorite animal?"

Both you and Ellie looked at each other, extremely confused. Lightly chuckling at your reaction, he continued "Before the outbreak, I remember really liking axolotls..."

At that, your and Ellie's confusion only grew wider, while on the other hand, he started grinning, and that's when Ellie realized.

A dad joke was on the way.

"I used to really like them because they were quiet animals, they didn't axolotl questions"

A moment of silence followed as you took in the joke, bursting out laughing a few seconds later, not really because the joke was funny, but more because of the proud smile on his face and Ellie's maroon flushed face.

“You’re gonna scare her off if you keep making jokes like that.” she mumbled as her hands came up to hide her face.

Maybe, in the end, this wasn't as intimidating as it seemed...

Tags!! @livvietalks (another person asked me to be tagged but for some reason it doesn't work 😭) + @autisticintr0vert :)!!! thank u for the support pookies! In case I post something else tonight I'll tag u over there too!!

I've never thought about starting a taglist but if anyone is interested let me know in the comment section! I also write for yellowjackets and (soon!! trust!!!) for arcane 🤍

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Obsession (Part 3)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2

Tw: stalker!In Ho, breaking into your home

Note: s/n is song name

You were getting ready for your date. Knowing In Ho, he’d be dressed in black, so you complimented it with a red mid thigh length dress, with a plain of black heels and gold jewelry. (dress link). He told you to “to dress semi formal”.

You heard a car pull in front of your house. Before you had a chance to get near the door to leave, the doorbell rang.

“Hi (y/n)” In Ho said from behind a giant bouquet of red roses. “I didn’t know what kind you liked so I picked these… I also bought the entire flower cart” he said shyly. He wore a black button up, with black slacks, and a tie. He looked so handsome you almost forgot who he was. You saw Young il.

“Wow, In Ho, these are beautiful” you said stepping aside so he could bring them in. He set the vase down on the kitchen table.

“Oh you have a cat!” He exclaimed as he saw (c/n) jumping on the table.

“Yeah! That’s (c/n). He’s a mainecoon” you say happily. You looked at your regal cat as meowed at In Ho, brushing up against him.

“A friendly one, you are very beautiful (c/n)” he said as he pet the cat. “Ready to go?” He asked, extending his arm.

“Yes I am” you took it, your purse swinging off your shoulder. You walked out to the Mercedes that stood idle in your drive way. He opened the door for you and waited till you sat in the car.

“So, what type of music would you like to listen to?” He asked passing you his phone.

“Oh anything I don’t mind” you wave it off.

“No please, play your favorites!” He insisted. You took the phone typing the artist you like the most. Your favorite song playing first. “Oh my gosh, I loved this song when it first came out, now my favorite by them is (s/n)” he said.

“Really? I love that one too! I like this one more, though” you smile. 30 minutes of conversation about music an artists, you arrived at a restaurant. ‘Jungsik Seoul’.

“In Ho, this is really expensive!” You say. You’d only eaten there once, and that was when Gi Hun made contact with you and asked you for dinner before he left for America.

“You forget that you have your own card linked to my bank account (y/n).” He chuckled, helping you from the car. You agreed. “One table for Young il” he said. Your heart throbbed in pain at the mention of that name. You were led to a table in the far corner, yet still somehow surrounded by people.

“Order anything your heart desires. Even order some of those fish things to bring home to (c/n), after all, a beautiful cat like him deserves to eat like a king, and you a queen” In Ho said. The waiter approached you.

“My manager said drinks are in the house since the lady is so beautiful.” You blushed deeply as In Ho beamed.

“Yes she is. My girlfriend is gorgeous, isn’t she” In Ho replied. “I’ll take a glass of whiskey on the rocks and she’ll have a…?” He looked towards you.

“A double shot of coconut rum with pineapple juice” you said. The waiter bowed and left your table.

“Coconut rum, and pineapple juice.” In Ho repeated. “Sounds delicious” a few minutes later as you were both looking at the menu, the waiter returned. You and In Ho were discussion on what you were going to eat. He order for the both of you, asking for two more of the drink you had.

“In Ho, I can’t drink 2 at once” you laugh.

“Hell no, the other ones for me. You’re making me jealous with how good that looks” he laughs and you follow suit.

Time skip:

You and In Ho were walking through the city. You didn’t know how protected you were, he has men hiding in plain sight as you walked through the streets.

“So, (y/n) can I ask you something?”

“Sure” you say wiping tears from your eyes after laughing so hard at his last joke.

“Would you see yourself being with me?” He asked.

“What?”

“Like if I didn’t involve you in the games. If I moved in with you or you moved in with me, in a house, not where I sleep during the games, can you see yourself with me?”

“I was able to see myself with Young il.” You say coldly. “I saw the rest of my life with him, and I see parts of him in you… but I can’t get past your job.”

“It’s what keeps my money going” he deflects “I am Young il (y/n). You saw it today, at dinner, walking, picking you up, that’s me. The real me” he said.

“But the job…” you begin.

“I can’t quit my job.”

“Then I can’t be with you.” You say coldly. “I’d like to go home now” he nodded and brought you to the car. You walked in silence, the drive was silent. He walked you to your door.

“I enjoyed tonight” you say turning to him. “Thank you, In Ho” you kissed him on his cheek and went inside.

He stood there, waiting to hear the door lock, the lock that kept him out, even though breaking in was so easy.

Tag list:

@syraxnyra @colorwastaken

[southwestchili]

Gunpoint! ☠︎︎

Robber! Toji x Gas station worker! Reader

Synonpsis: Yikes! you are being held at gunpoint by some big buff guy in a mask, this isn't good. All you wanted to do was work your shitty cashier job and now your being put through this? Your night couldnt get any worse, but, maybe you arent so unlucky after all..

Tags: Reader is AFAB!, Dark content, dub-con, mask kink, fear play, gunplay, blowjobs, doggy style, toji is not a good guy in this, name calling, hair pulling, raw sex, breeding kink if you squint, spanking like twice.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩

You're an overworked and definitely underpaid college student who works at the local gas station off one of the roads near campus. Your job isn't hard; all you really do is check people out stupid questions and have to deal with the occasional crazy person. Other than cleaning, restocking, and running the cash register, your job is fairly simple. The only problem is the fact that your manager loves giving you the night shifts.

Now, you wouldn’t mind this job if the pay was better, but you're always worried about what might happen—what if one night, someone decides to rob the store? You always rationalize these thoughts with logic, thinking about how people don't rob stores like that nowadays, right? Wrong. This particular night everything was running smoothly; the occasional late-night customers would set in. You're just doing your job as usual, checking people out and restocking shelves. It's late at night; the clock reads 11:20 pm. A customer walks in, and the door opens with a ding. Your eyes look over to the figure entering the store; you greet them with a warm smile and a casual wave. The man that enters is wearing a ski mask, and that's your first red flag. It's a bit chilly out, but not nearly as cold to be wearing one of those. You swallow nervously at the thought of potential danger, your trying to keep a level head. But to add the cherry on top, you're all alone in the store with this man. That would be very cliché of a robber to actually be wearing a ski mask… you think, trying to brush away those thoughts. The man walks up to the counter and rests his hands on the counter. "Hey miss, can I' get a scratcher? The $10 one, please." The mysterious man asks coolly, locking eyes with you. "Yes, sir, I'll go ahead and grab that for you," you say as you bend down slightly under the counter to grab the ticket for him. This guy is odd; he walks into a gas station at 11 pm, wearing a ski mask, to buy a scratch-off ticket? You grab the ticket, and as you tilt your head back up to meet the man, you're met with the muzzle of a gun. Your eyebrows knit together, and you are washed with fear. You put your hands up; you don't know what to do; you've never been held at gunpoint before! "Don't want to waste my time, doll. Make this easy for me and just empty your register, hmm?" He hums at you. You scramble to open the register and remember you literally can't. Your face goes white as you remember that it will jam sometimes. You try to swallow due to your throat being dry. Your eyes start to get watery. You don't know how to deal with this; are you just supposed to tell him that you can't get it open? "Uhm... It won't… open…" You manage to mutter out. You give the man with the gun a pathetic expression. Your face is pale, you're shaking, tears are threatening to fall, and you're utterly helpless right now. The man's patience is starting to run thin. "You better figure it out, doll. M'not leaving here without anything." He says sternly, holding the gun to you; the muzzle is pressing into your shoulder now.

You're grabbing onto the register and starting to shake it; thankfully, the bottom compartment opens, and you sigh in relief. You start gathering the money and placing it into piles. The man just observes you. He's never seen anyone so obedient before; he's definitely intrigued by you. You finish piling the money and give him a look of pleading. You're scared of what happens next. You hope he just takes the money and goes. But it's never that simple. Once the money is stored in the bag, his attention shifts to you. "You're pretty obedient; I like that." The man speaks up, and you're caught off guard. "I, uh... I guess so?" You say your eyes trying to meet his. His head tilts to the side, and he scratches his head with the gun in his head. You don't know why this psycho is trying to make small talk with you after just robbing you. This is absurd, but honestly? You've been so caught up in fearing this man that you haven't gotten a good glimpse of his toned body. His compression shirt and sweatpants definitely don't leave anything to the imagination. If he wasn't robbing you, you totally would want him to do unspeakable things to you. Your eyes trace his body until you're snapped out of your trance by metal against your forehead. "You done fuckin' me with your eyes?" He taunts; he moves from his spot and goes around the counter. Your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears. As the man gets closer and closer, you feel as if it was getting harder to breathe. "You're as pale as a ghost doll. M'not gonna hurt cha'...unless you want me to.." The man is now right in front of you; he's leaning down to meet your level, and his hand is cupping your cheek. Tears are still threatening to fall. You're biting your lip anxiously. "C'mon, don't cry… You don't wanna make me feel like a bad guy, do ya'?" He coos. You blink at him, and your bottom lip trembles. You don't know what to say to him, so you just shake your head and look into his eyes. "Hmm... What should I do with you?" He says moving so he is standing up fully. You tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Wanna have some fun with you before your shift ends..go on and turn that closed sign on f'me yeah?" He says, You just know this bastard is smirking right now. You know what's coming up. You know what he's insinuating, so you comply. You turn around and flip the illuminated sign outside to say 'closed' and all the gas prices on the sign in front. You flip most of the lights off in the store except for the one above the two of your heads to make the store look vacant.

You can feel two pairs of eyes piercing through you from behind, so you face the man. His eyes are hungry, and he steps forward and grabs your chin and pulls his mask up a little before leaning in to give you a sloppy kiss. You kiss him back. This feels downright nasty; you're making out with the same dude that was holding a gun to your head not even five minutes ago. The kiss feels so sinful; his tongue is swirling around your mouth, and yours is trying to make its way into his. But this man just won't let that happen. You can feel a little roughness at the corner of his lips, and you wonder what it is. His hands slide their way down to your throat; he's not applying pressure, but he is just keeping it there. He pulls away from you, and there is a line of saliva connecting you two. He quickly pulls the mask back down before you can get a proper look. You feel two rough hands on your shoulders pushing you down, and you sink to your knees. You watch as he lazily slides his sweats down, and you eye his large cock. His tip is angry and red, and there is a bit of pre-cum spilling from the tip. You take the base of it into your hands, and you lick the top of it. You watch as he reaches over to the counter to grab something. Your view is obstructed, but you're soon reminded of what it is by the familiar metallic sensation on your forehead. Is this guy nuts? you think as you look up at him with a worried look. "Aw... What's that look for, doll? Just makin' sure you do a good job," he says, petting your head. "Keep your eyes on me the whole time; if you don't... well, then… there's gonna be some consequences. And don't cha even think about usin' any teeth either, you got me?" He says, narrowing his eyes, he has a solemn tone. You try and say yes, but you're cut off by him forcibly shoving his cock in your mouth. You look up at him, and you do your best to suck him off. You're being extra careful not to use any teeth. You're keeping your pretty little eyes on his the whole time. This whole situation is so disgustingly lewd and just downright horrible. You can't believe you're sucking off the man who can easily just kill you right here, right now. You hate to admit this, but you're pretty turned on by that fact. Your focus remains still on giving him head. Your tongue is swirling around his tip. And you make sure to jerk off the rest of what doesn't fit into your mouth. You bob your head up and down his shaft, his cock head hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water. Your tears run down your face, smudging your mascara. You would have worn waterproof if you had known you were gonna suck off a robber. You gag around his length. He grabs the back of your hair that was already in a ponytail and fucks into your mouth. You can feel his cock pulsing into your mouth, and you can hear him starting to breathe louder. He groans a little before cumming down your throat. "Swallow f'me like the good, obedient slut you are." He commands, and you oblige. "Show me; stick out your tongue." He gives you another command, and you follow. You stick your tongue out at the man, and he removes the gun from your forehead, setting it onto the counter again.

"Such a good girl, how about I give ya a reward, hm?" The man looks down at you. You really want to see what he looks like under that thing; you can only imagine how handsome he is. You nod your head before you hesitate to ask him, "Sir... can I? Maybe... see your face? M'not gonna tell anyone, I promise. I just wanna see.." You manage to ask the man in front of you. He gives you a puzzled look, as if you had asked him the most outlandish question. He scoffed and then pulled the mask off his face. You blinked at the sight of a black-haired man with one of the most handsome faces you think you had ever seen. You focus your gaze on the scar that adorns his lip, and you remember feeling it when you made out. You take in his sculpted jawline and how complete his face looks now that you can see the whole thing. "You done starin'? You're makin' me uneasy, doll." He says, smirking. Oh, that smirk is gonna kill you. You bite your lip at him and give him a nod and a quick sorry. But you're not; how can you be sorry for just admiring the absolutely gorgeous man in front of you? "You wanna get fucked now or what? I bet you want it more than anythin' am I right?" The man grabs your face before forcing you to flip around and grab onto the counter for support. You feel as he pulls your skirt off and he peels your panties off. It's embarrassing how utterly wet you are. You feel a harsh smack get landed onto your pussy and look back to the man behind you admiring you. He gives you a smirk before he lines himself up with your hole and pushes himself in all at once. How rude. He goes slow at first, allowing you to adjust to his size. He starts to gradually pick up the pace. Grabbing into your hips and leaving little marks on the soft flesh. You feel great. He's fucking you so dumb you almost forget about the whole being held at gunpoint situation until you see his gun lying right next to your head. You feel him getting rougher with you. You've never been fucked this good in your life. "Hah— fuck! Fuck! Mister! You're fucking me so…good! Don't stop!" You babble, drool slipping past your lips and onto the counter. that you will have to clean. "Fuck…call me Toji doll, you deserved it." The man now known as Toji says. "Oh! Fuck! Toji right there!" you moan; you hope no one can hear you from how loud you're being right now. "Fuck Toji- Gonna cum...You're hitting that—ah!" You gasp as you feel a harsh smack to your ass. "Nuh-uh, you're not cummin until I say you are, girl." Toji punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust. You see the gun leave the counter, and you can only imagine what he's about to do. You clench your eyes shut, and you feel a cold sensation on your clit. Is this motherfucker rubbing a gun on your clit right now? "Ah! Fuck! Been so good for you, Toji-! Wanna cum! Please, please let me…" you beg the man behind you. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll let you... and I'll even give you a bonus. I'm gonna cum deep inside yer pretty pussy here, gonna claim her for myself." Toji says he is getting close to his high, and as you clench your walls around his cock, he knows it's over. The gun's muzzle rubbing against your clit sends you over the edge. You cry out as you cum around Toji's cock. You can feel him cumming too; the hot sensation of his sperm inside you leaves you dizzy. The gun's movements come to a halt, and Toji pulls out. But he makes sure not one drop of his cum is wasted, and he pulls your panties up, making sure it's secure. Your legs are wobbly, and you watch as Toji pulls his pants up. "You tell anyone 'bout this and I'll actually blow your brains out, rather than fuckin 'em out, you got me, doll?" Toji says, pulling on his ski mask, grabbing his gun and the money he stole. He leaves the store and you behind with his cum between your legs and a ruined standard of men for the rest of your life. Maybe this job wasn't so shitty after all.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩

This was lowkey a really weird thought i had but i think its pretty fire tbh.

[bulkyphrase]

Shrunkyclunks Rec List

Some of my favorite Stucky fics that feature a relationship between Modern Bucky Barnes and Captain America Steve Rogers.

Lessons in Normality by relenafanel (@relenafanel) (Explicit, 38,002 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: Things Steve knows about his boyfriend Bucky: How he looks with his face relaxed in sleep. That he can perfectly flip pancakes. The way he's open about things Steve is still adapting to, like therapy and depression and sex toys and being a millennial. The way he laughs with his mouth wide open and his eyes squinted, and the cheerful way he cheats at cards and loses at laser tag. The way he seduces Steve with a knowing glint in his eye. The way Steve responds to it, stronger each time, taken by his beauty and competence and snark and compassion (or the compassionate way he boots Steve in the ass when he needs a push). Things Steve doesn't know about his boyfriend Bucky: That he's an undercover operative gathering intel on Hydra, SHIELD, and which Steve is affiliated with. Otherwise known as The Honey Pot AU

It's a Ghost Story (baby just say yes) by moontyrant (@moontyrant) (General Audiences, 11,262 words, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Summary: There are an infinity of universes in potentia. In one, Bucky Barnes was born in the early twentieth century, followed Steve Rogers into a crusade against Hydra, was captured and became the Winter Soldier. In another universe, Bucky Barnes was born in the 1980s and grew up to spend his weekends busting ghosts. "And this guy is legit?" Clint asked for the third time, eyebrows making a break for his hairline. Tony threw his hands in the air. "How should I know! He has some reviews online but it's not like he has a website or anything."

Mission Impossible by AggressiveWhenStartled (@aggressivewhenstartled) (Explicit, 20,165 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: The thing of it is, when everything goes to shit Bucky isn't even trying. Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

More below the cut!

Cat Nap by galwednesday (@galwednesday) (Teen And Up Audiences, 8,883 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: Objectively, losing the Bucharest safehouse and its contents was the least of Bucky's problems. The balding agent he'd seen directing the raid was apparently affiliated with SHIELD, which was a shadowy government agency that made representatives from other shadowy government agencies suddenly remember urgent appointments when Bucky tried to bribe, threaten, and otherwise shake them down for information on what the hell SHIELD might want with a former brainwashed assassin. Dodging SHIELD should be his number one priority. Subjectively, he wanted his fucking cat back. Also available as a podfic read by quietnight (@quietnighty)

Under the Bridges of Fame by notlucy, art by alby_mangroves (@notlucy, @albymangroves) (Explicit, 89,678 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: For better or for worse (usually worse), Steve Rogers has been the most famous guy in the room for a while. And though newsreels have given way to YouTube, people's reactions haven't changed much in seventy-some years. Steve's become an expert at keeping his head down and getting on with his life. A head-on collision on a busy street sends books flying and sweeps Steve off his feet. The point of impact has a name: James. A charming mess of long hair, thick glasses, and a crooked, not-quite-smile. If he recognizes Steve, he chooses not to comment, placing him firmly in Steve's good graces. As far as Steve can tell, they might be Bogie and Bacall all over again, save for the group of idiots with selfie sticks who surround them. But for once, the request isn't for Steve. Which begs the question: if James is James, then who the hell is Bucky?

Save a Horse, Ride a Captain by galwednesday (@galwednesday) (Teen And Up Audiences, 2,708 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: Bucky tapped him on the shoulder, swaying back and forth a little as he waited for the man to turn around. "Hello," he said, and then promptly forgot what else he was going to say, because this guy was fucking beautiful. "Wow. Good face." Two of the guy's friends, a man wearing a suit that fit so well it had to be bespoke and a man with a cute little gap between his front teeth, started cracking up. The petite redhead sitting next to them cocked her head to the side and pulled her phone out of her handbag. Beautiful Face just looked kind of pained, so Bucky redirected. He was a gentleman. He could take a hint. No hitting on beautiful guys who were uncomfortable with that sort of thing, no matter how lickable their jawlines were. "Hello," he repeated, doing his best to mind his manners. "I'm very sorry to bother you. Can I have a piggy-back ride?" Also available as a podfic read by irrationalpie

Don't Give it a Hand, Offer it a Soul by TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone) (@captaintoomanybattles) (Mature, 30,734 words, Graphic Depictions Of Violence)

Summary: An Avengers training mission gone wrong, a HYDRA plot in the midst of SHIELD, and a mysterious prisoner in the basement of an abandoned bank-- and that's just the start of Bucky's day. While the Avengers rush to prevent HYDRA's plans for world domination, Bucky finds himself drawing closer to the stranger he rescued... a man who is almost certainly an agent of HYDRA.

If the Apocalypse comes, text me by relenafanel (@relenafanel) (Teen And Up Audiences, 16,151 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: AKA Bucky the Vampire Slayer Captain America squinted against the sun, raising his arm to shield his eyes. He looked uncomfortable and angry as the camera zoomed in on his face. "I don't have anything further to say," he snapped at the reporter. Bucky's feet fell off his coffee table in shock. "Holy shit," he said to the room at large. "Captain America is a vampire."

old situations (new complications) by ChibiSquirt, Art_By_DrowningByDegrees (@chibisquirt, @drowningbydegrees) (Explicit, 21,191 words, Graphic Depictions Of Violence)

Summary: A soulmate AU where your soulmark is the first thing your soulmate thinks when they meet you. Bucky is a normal, Level Six SHIELD agent who stumbles into a time machine while on a mission. When he travels back sixty-four years and lands ass-up on the wartime desk of one Agent Carter, his soulmark—"Who's that with Peggy?"—goes from fairly distinctive, as thoughts go, to maddeningly common.

Laying Down Bricks by wildraspberrie (Teen And Up Audiences, 27,317 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: She sighed and shook her head, a small look like pity covering her face. "I am aware of the significance of Captain America to Americans, Barnes. But he has been compromised. SHIELD can't let a super soldier loose with someone else pulling his strings." She gestured with her gun. OR, another soulmate AU. Bucky gets recruited by SHIELD to find the kidnapped body of Captain America. He's stalked by a mysterious man, gets blown up a bit, and is maybe a bit too cavalier.

if you're looking for jesus (then get on your knees) by voxofthevoid (@voxofthevoid) (Explicit, 18,171 words, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Summary: Hot damn, is his first thought. Threat assessment follows close on its heels because Bucky's a goddamn professional. Military, definitely. Male, built like a goddamn mountain. Bucky stares helplessly because shoulders that broad should be illegal. It's the face that really fucks him up though. Hair as silver as the star on his chest, swept back from a face that's all hard angles and deep lines. There's a beard too, covering a jaw that looks strong enough to sit on, and its white is peppered with bits of dark blond, which should look ridiculous but doesn't. "You seem to know my name," Bucky says, plastering on a charming smile. "Only polite to return the favor." "If you're banking on politeness, you might be in the wrong business, son." Jesus, Mary, and motherfucking Joseph. This is how wet dreams and porn clips should start, not a goddamn interrogation. Or, S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Bucky Barnes is captured on a mission and meets Commander Steve Rogers, the erstwhile Captain America.

Life of the Party by AggressiveWhenStartled (@aggressivewhenstartled) (Explicit, 21,689 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: "You know, kids," Steve heard from the backyard, "one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We're going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!" This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off. "I've never seen actual lava in my entire life," Steve said, vaguely offended. "You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon's niece's birthday party," Sam said, incredulous. "The Falcon, who is an actual superhero."

Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time by DogsForDays (Teen And Up Audiences, 22,779 words, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Summary: "Who knew that the Avengers could throw such a rager?" The hotel receptionist commented as she dug around in her desk. "The Avengers?" Bucky squeaked. "Oh yes, I mean, that was the only party here last night. That must have been the one you went to, right?" Bucky and his unit hadn't just crashed a fancy party. They had crashed a fancy party hosted by the fucking Avengers.

To the Marrow of Our Bones by Sproings (@sproings) (Mature, 22,614 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: "I'm Grant," the guy said shyly. He had jet black hair with streaks of bright blue that brought out his eyes, even from behind his thick rimmed glasses. "I'm Captain America's assistant." "Am I supposed to be meeting Captain America today? Because I am not prepared for that," Bucky said. He tried to play it off as a joke, but seriously, he would have found something nicer to wear if he'd known he was going to meet a national icon. "Uh, it's only me," Grant said, biting his lip a little, just enough to show off the bright gold of his lip ring, and Bucky kinda wanted to help out with the whole biting thing, because Grant's lips were lush and pink and very biteable looking.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves) (Explicit, 21,980 words, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings)

Summary: "Holy shit," says Steve. "I've been knocked out twice by the same guy."

dance with a ghost by crinklefries (@spacerenegades) (Teen And Up Audiences, 11,634 words, No Archive Warnings Apply)

Summary: "Captain America is haunting me," Bucky says over a bowl of ramen. His pronouncement is met with a round of silence. "Captain America," Natasha says. "As in--" "The first Avenger," Bucky confirms. "Supersoldier and hero of World War II. The fabric of the American conscience." "But he's--dead," Sam says. His look of perplexed concern, ever perplexed and ever concerned, only increases. "You're aware of that, right?" "I know," Bucky says. "That's why I said he's haunting me." Also available as a podfic read by lightupstars (@collapsinghorizons)

For more rec lists, check out my Fic Rec Masterpost!

[larkral]

Happy WIPsday! I have been wanting to post for approximately 2 weeks, but it's been chaosville at my house, so I haven't done it. I'm not seeing any tags, so I'm going to start us off this week!

So.... in the past two weeks I've written almost 2,000 words on Simon's Two Mums AU and about 4k words on Firstprince Soulmate BS. This is a lot for me! I'm excited about both of them! Soulmate BS is marinating after having had a very important scene written, so finally (already, always) got some overdue attention, and I'm really enjoying where it's going.

Simon's two mums:

Then, mum says, "Is it standard practice to cast spells on students without their agreement or parental assent?"  "I'm sorry?" [omitted for spoilers] says.  "Mum," I hiss at her.  "I'm sorry, Simon, but I'd be very curious to know if this is a common experience for students here, or if it's something that's happening particularly often to my son." Her voice is hard and angry. Her lawyer voice, the one that knows she's going to win, and doesn't mind letting you know as well.  "It's…" [spoiler again] sits back down. "It is, actually, quite common, but it is also very likely that it's happening particularly often with Simon."  Mum seems surprised at how easily he goes along with her. "I'd appreciate if you would draft a policy document that provides students and their parents with more explicit knowledge of circumstances in which they may be subject to magical correction or intervention."  "Of course, yes," [this person's name would spoil you] says. "Absolutely." He moves to stand again, and then sits back down. "Is there anything else before Simon returns to class?"  "No," Mum says. "Unless you have anything you'd like to talk about, Simon?" Mummy asks, and I could cry. I almost do.

Soulmate BS and tags below the cut because I know what y'all here for.

BRILLIANT SHIT I say. Welcome to some soulmate lore knowledge.

"Mmm, yeah," Henry says, then with a little more clarity. "Sorry, what are we having a hard time believing? It's been quite the night in that regard."  [quip removed for spoilers] Alex says. Henry hardly gets in his demure Indeed before Alex says, "I don't think it's that hard to believe that I'm a better dancer than you.” "No," Henry says, and then he presses his thumb into his phone and turns the screen towards Alex.  You're Linked! the Heartlink banner reads, overlaying an illustration of red, pink and brown confetti. "Oh, shit." Alex says.  Congratulations! Your bandmatch was calculated at a 97.82% level of synchronization. That's well above the threshold at which we recommend a parallel re-sync. Your concierge, Alana, will be in touch within 24 hours to facilitate contact with your soulmate.  "Quite," Henry says. Alex can feel his heartbeat in his stomach, suddenly. It's a little bit nauseating, like he might throw up.

Thanks to @talentpiper11 for the name inspiration for the soulmate matching app. Which obviously every soulmate universe must have.

Tags and hugs to all my fandom friends. I hope you're making it through this week, lovelies.

@stitchyqueer @confused-bi-queer @facewithoutheart @whogaveyoupermission @cutestkilla

@hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy

@captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @artsyunderstudy @martsonmars @nausikaaa

@chen-chen-chen-again-chen @that-disabled-princess @shrekgogurt  @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl

@blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @youarenevertooold @emeryhall @run-for-chamo-miles

@talentpiper11 @orange-peony @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @mooncello

@aristocratic-otter @roomwithanopenfire @monbons @kiwiana-writes

[amatsuchan-eiliniel]

Okay so I guess I should talk since there's apparently 101 people not knowing a thing about this.

I know, you're going to think "Amatsu still has drama????" And yes I have.

See, there's this ex-moot I used to talk to regularly. You may see posts about them, about their OCs, some requests, some Cheshire Rabbit (if you don't see the person, there's some sort of Cheshire Rabbit asks where they figure on). The thing is they created an OC/Alter up on someone real and his OC, taking informations on this OC to create theirs (they're still different, but it still is copying.) This OC is also shipped with Deuce, SURPRISINGLY, while my friend's OC is, guess what! Shipped with Deuce. Let's have a reminder of what is copying.

They talked about us breaking their boundaries without even thinking of ours, they claimed being "anxious" about the whole thing for, what, one hour? While me and my friend (the one whose OC has been copied) were anxious about this situation for months. They didn't care about our boundaries, in fact I'm sure they never did and hide themselves behind their disorders to make us look like the shittiest persons on Earth. I tried to not break their boundaries, except they broke mine multiple times, and when I broke theirs, suddenly it was an object of blocking each other. I didn't say anything when they broke mine. But me? Beaking theirs? Hell nah, I needed to be banned and blocked, apparently. And so it went the same for my friend.

My friend suffered so much because of this situation for years, unable to join the community again, because lies have been told, they were copying OCs, breaking boundaries, hiding themselves behind disorders to make us all feel like shit. They even blocked a friend who was worried for them.

They said they would wait for me until I finished my work on myself to be a better person in our relationship, they accepted, but blocked me recently for no reasons.

Finally, they're part of a server which was created againt my friend, in his back, only because "his server was shitty because he was in it.". This person has no respect for anyone, and please be careful.

This is not a hating call-out. This is a warning, please don't spread hate. If you're uncomfortable with this person, just block and move on with your life.

I'm tagging here moots I think they know about that person, just so you know what's going on. Some of you did requests for them.

@cheerleaderman @offorestsongs @treydia @frillve @gl00myb3arz @jewelulu @viperbunnies @blanketorghost @elenauaurs @oya-oya-okay (I'm so sorry for tagging you if it makes you uncomfortable!)

Note: Their name start with a K, or an A depending on where you find them. That's all I can say on this post, because, you know, I'm a bad person /j.

[monvirtu]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

⋆ precis ~ headcanons on how quackity acts when he has a crush!

⋆ tags ~ profanity, romance, and fluff.

⋆ notes ~ taking c!quackity, q!quackity, cc!quackity, and k!quackity requests. bro's cool so yeah.

⋆       hear me out, it would be hard and easy to know when quackity has a crush on you.

⋆       if you were a streamer like him, he would constantly watch your streams or raid them with his own viewers.

iwatchquackityhaha: RAIDDDDD !!!!!

greenbeans: QUACKITY RAID!!!!

mynamesjeff: THIS IS THE 5TH TIME QUACKITY HAD RAIDED [NAME] HE'S OBSESSED

quackity: @.mynamesjeff SHUT UP JEFF

⋆       his viewers would absolutely call out him on this, but it would be a little tease that happened because it wasn't that big of a deal. he was only watching your streams, and that could simply be because he likes your content. he might be raiding your streams because he feels like it.

⋆       you, of course, never speculated about it either. it was simply him being nice and you always greeted him once you noticed his presence in your chat.

⋆       but then it got to the point where he would donate to you.

⋆       if it was a little bit of money, then no one would have batted an eye.

⋆       but this man would donate hundreds just to see your reaction.

⋆       why? because one, it makes you notice him, and two, he enjoys watching how your reaction changes every time he donates.

⋆       when he first donated, you were shocked and made sure to thank him every minute of your stream. you could be talking about something else and then randomly thank him again for the money.

⋆       then after a few more times, it got to the point where you'd lecture him for donating so much, and it eventually turned into a war with you both donating loads of money back and forth.

⋆       he always won, by the way.

' quackity donated 200 ! '

"hi"

despite the fact you had a robot reading your donations out loud, you still found yourself looking at the screen as you read what quackity had sent.

"did you seriously just donate to tell me hi?" your words echoed throughout your room, and before you could assume that he wouldn't answer, another donation appeared on the screen.

' quackity donated 100 ! '

"yes"

"quackity, we're throwing hands."

⋆       eventually, he would start texting you on discord to ask if you wanted to do a stream with him.

⋆       at first, you believed that streaming with him would be like a one-time thing, but then it became a consistent thing for viewers to see you both streaming together.

⋆       streams with similar titles started popping up all over youtube and twitch.

⋆       "minecraft with [name]" or "playing roblox with quackity"

⋆       things like that.

⋆       and that's when people started to get suspicious.

⋆       i mean, who could blame them? you both just seemed to click, and given how fast it happened, everyone was just curious.

⋆       eventually, everyone's curiosity turned into a chance to ship you and quackity, and that led to fanfics, fanart, and even edits.

⋆       to which quackity reads, views, and watches them all.

⋆       he was amused by people picking up on his little crush, but this is where him being 'a hard person to know when they like someone' comes in.

⋆       he never confirms that he likes you.

⋆       at least to you.

⋆       he'll constantly like and comment on edits or fanart of you both, or repost them to where everyone can see that he did.

⋆       it's never a shock to find you and him trending all because he decided to comment a ';)' on an edit he saw.

⋆       this would happen for a little bit until it got to the point where you started questioning what you and quackity were, so he'd ask you out later on.

⋆       he wouldn't do it on a stream because one, he wouldn't want you to feel pressured, and two, he wanted it to be a moment between you and him. nobody else.

⋆       it'd probably be around vidcon time, and that's because you'd both be in the same place, and you had more time to be around each other.

⋆       he'd invite you to hang out with him for a day, and he seems like the type of person to pull a move out of a romcom.

⋆       like, he studied romcoms a week before because he wanted to do something special.

⋆       if you're at a resturant, he'd write a note on your napkin asking if you'd be his. if you go to a beach, he made sure to write the question with seashells he found prior on the sand. if you don't like big gestures, he'll just ask you while you're on a walk or something.

⋆       but no matter what gesture he ended up pulling, his reaction would be the same to each one if you said yes.

⋆       a wide grin would spread on his face, and he'd probably give you a hug if you were okay with it.

⋆       if he ended up asking you on the beach, he'd jump into the water.

⋆       there's no denying that.

⋆       if you were okay with making your relationship public, he'd probably post a picture of you two kissing or whatnot with the caption telling fanartist to remake it.

⋆       his lockscreen would be that photo, and every art remake his followers made for him.

⋆       now if you aren't a streamer like him, it would be a little bit different.

⋆       he probably met you at your work, or just a random place in general.

⋆       if he met you at your work, you best believe he'll be constantly going there just to talk to you until he gains the confidence to ask for your number.

⋆       and that might take a bit, so you're better off asking for his number first.

⋆       he would text you all the time.

⋆       the type of man to apologize if he left you on delivered for like ten minutes.

⋆       the type of man to quickly text you back when he's streaming to let you know why he might not answer, and then proceeds to talk about you to his viewers for the rest of the stream.

"who are you texting?"

his friends taunting voice rang in his headphones, yet he could only laugh a little bit while he continued typing his message to you.

it wasn't a simple sentence that stated he would be busy, but rather a paragraph saying that he was playing games with his friends, and that he would make sure to text you as soon as he had the time.

"someone i met a while ago." quackity finally responded, and his friend hummed. "you like this someone?"

"like is an understatement."

⋆       eventually, you both would start to hang out, and then he'd ask you out once he felt like the time was right.

⋆       since you weren't a streamer, though, his chat would literally be jumping with joy once they met you.

⋆       they'd give you a nickname to match quackity's, preferably something that refers to a duck, or they'd just call you by your name if you preferred that.

⋆       if you're ever lacking confidence, quackity could sit you down in front of his stream, and with his viewer's compliments towards you, it wouldn't even take you that long to feel amazing again.

   

©𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

writings are to not be reposted, translated, or plagiarized. if you wish to show your love for my work, feel free to reblog, comment, or like.

[moonpie016]

---

This song just fits this.

My goodness, they're simpler in design.

Good!

.....And so the rambling begins.

Which I would consider this a oc rambling, I don't know what these dudes are anymore. Except for Myst. But fun.

Though I already explained stuff here.

(If ya wanna read or re-read.)

The wall of words underneath.

⬇️

💛

Soooo.

Illy (she/her)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

First one up. Not much has changed honestly. Still trying to have some calculated way of thinking about things, either logically or critically. It's a struggle for her.

But likes using whatever knowledge she has to idk, rant? Spout random facts?

She's just minding her own business unless it IS her business. (Or nosy).

She has glasses now. Yay! Great! She can read without straining her eyes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

💛

---

💜

Waxing (he/they)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I kinda stole the name Waxing from an old oc of mine, sooo that's his name now. Old oc has no name now. :]

A new thing (other than the headphones) is that the center of his hoodie can basically become or resemble a pit.

Because that's how any strong emotion feels. Usually negative ones. He hates it, Illy tries to make Wax calm down with reasons he shouldn't be anxious, but falls out the window.

💜

It only works if he's not too worked up. Man's eyesight is....ok. Not the best, because unlike his other part, he has to squint at most things. Like words on signs and stuff. Why doesn't he just copy his other half? Idk. He's stubborn. And character design reasons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

---

❤️

Seeds (She/he/they)

Myst (she/her)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Imma just put Seeds and Myst together here.

Because they're basically one in the same. Yes, Seeds' jacket has stuff on it, I probably will draw something with more stuff on the jacket. (Because I didn't know what else to think of.)

The one side of his face is more expressive than the other. Mostly because each one of these guys looks upset every waking moment.

(They're not, they just look like that.)

But I guess it's to show being more comfortable in being expressive and just not feeling comfortable and trying to... understand the room. Confusion.

Is their goal the same as the album? No. They're all technically "whole", but don't understand anything about this life stuff. It's weird, tricky, and overall odd.

Living in a nice relaxing Void™ is all they know. But taking a step into unknown territory is the what they want, an adventure.

(Depending on whatever adventure really means to them. Or me.) Breaking out of this weird shaped shell. Because the world is scary.

Too much scary stuff that makes Wax retreat to his safe space, and essentially brings his other counterparts with him.

She's more honest and blunt about everything. Even when she's trying not to be. Her cold face, her voice. Always been how she's characterized in my head.

Myst doesn't like this because she knows that this isn't ok. But the others, especially Seeds and Wax just... don't do anything.

But, she and Illy continue to try and strive for new things. Even when the other two challenge them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🩵

---

I really need to update tags on certain stuff.

Ok, I think I've ramble enough again.

But hope you enjoyed this... random redesign/ LORE (not really lore.). :3

---

[shes-an-oddbird]

WIP Wednesday - The Suncatcher

Thank you @annoyingcloudearthquake for tagging me! I've been working on this fic for actual years now, since the end of season 3, and I'd really love to finish it as a sort of thank you now that the show is ending. Unfortunately it's one of those fics that has grown out of control and has multiple main characters, alternating povs and is nowhere near done but I made fun little moodboards for each character to help motivate me to finish and thought I would share them and a little snippet with each. Fair warning the story was inspired by my niche obsession with Cirque du Soleil and an odd fascination with Las Vegas.

Summary: When a wealthy group of investors decides to save a struggling Las Vegas hotel, The Suncatcher, former performers Owen and Tommy are asked to revive their first Cirque show and turn it into the must-see attraction on the iconic strip. Together they recruit a misfit group of artists who deserve a second chance at the high-flying circus life and are determined to put on the best show they can even when they run into obstacles around every corner.

Neon - A Night in Las Vegas TK Strand - The Visitor - Aerial Straps/Duo Straps Artist

'The sun sets and a first time visitor falls in love with the heart of the city itself '

He passes Jonah’s door and moves towards the kitchen, stopping again when he hears voices.

“So what do you think?” To TK’s surprise it’s his dad’s voice. He didn’t even know his dad was in town.

“I think-I think you ask very good questions Owen Strand.” His mom answers. “I mean I have complete faith that he could do it, physically he’s there, mentally he’s there – “

“But – “ His dad asks and the long pause that follows makes his gut twist uncomfortably. But what?

“Emotionally I think he’s getting there,” Gwyn finally says, “Alex may have set him back a little bit.”

Alex? Why would they be talking about Alex? Why were they talking about him at all?

“Doing a show would get him out of New York, might be good for him, a way to move on?”

“Yes, but to do a show in Las Vegas of all the places, and a love story at that, especially this love story.” His mom reasons, pouring out all her concerns at once.

He hears a small amused scoff from his dad. “He’s a grown man Gwyn, surely he’s come to terms with the divorce by now.”

“I’m sure he has but it’s a bit more complicated than that, he’s always loved love but it’s never been very kind to him in return.”

“Maybe this time it will be.” Owen urges. “It’s an opportunity to start over, to try again.”

There is a long pause. TK debates whether he should round the corner to the kitchen, back track to his room or stay put in hopes of more information. His dad was talking about a show. It had been a long time since he performed although he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to get back at it. Nothing really compared when your old day job title could be simplified to circus performer.

“He always did love Neon, it would be nice for him to have that back.” Her voice is wistful now but his gut clenches once more at the name.

Neon. As is Neon, Neon. The old Cirque show he’s spent hours of his young life absorbed in? The show where his parents fell in love both in real life and in front of the audience every night? They wanted him to be a part of that Neon.

“So you think I should ask him?” Owen asks.

“I think you already did, good morning TK.” TK flinches. She knew he was there the whole time. He’s not surprised, his mom always could see through walls, but damn does he wish he could have had a minute longer to process everything.

[steddieunderdogfics]

i somehow have two fics fit into the fics with character names in the title category... The Ballad of Eddie Munson’s Battle Vest by hawkinsleather and An Ode to Eddie Munson’s Stained Mattress, also by hawkinsleather (yes i wrote them both, there seems to be a running theme with my titles or something..)

An Ode to Eddie Munson’s Stained Mattress by hawkinsleather

@hawkinsleather

Rating: Explicit

20,039 words, 2/2 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, minor hurt/comfort, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Implied Use of Slurs, implied use of queer slurs, Music, sleepover, canon-divergent, Gay Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is giving mixed signals, Platonic with a capital P sleepover with the boys, Eddie Munson is a huge nerd about music, Eddie Munson POV, Eddie Munson Has ADHD, Eddie Munson Has Nightmares, Idiot(s) in pine, Actual Use of queer slurs (in chapter two), Eddie Munson is a horny gremlin, Betaed because outside D & D I'm no hero, Pre-Relationship, i tell you this is all pre-relationship

Summary

And that's how Eddie found himself on his bed, thinking at the stains, listening to Mercyful Fate to drown out the noise of his thoughts. Thinking about Steve's 10th birthday, a crisp blue and a different shade of blue striped polo shirt and khakis. Some things don't change much, do they. But at least the crush was perfectly manageable, just something in the background that he could ignore most of the time. Until he crashed out of that tarp covered boat at Reefer Rick's and pinned Steve against the wall with a broken bottle against his throat. or a love letter to Eddie Munson's stained mattress.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks!

[noornight]

Long distance besties. This definitely happened after the third movie (source: trust me bro)

Based on this