#every day stuff they're doin

[pseudowho]

Thinking about...

...long-term 'too comfortable' relationships with the JJK guys, when all the weird/gross/silly things creep in.

Pinning Gojo Satoru against a wall, having spotted an enormous pimple on his chin that you just have to get: "there's nothing wrong with m-- how dare you-- ow ow ow get off me--" "don't be such a melt, Satoru, keep still, that absolutely cannot stay on your face--"

Sitting on the toilet and chatting with Nanami Kento while he showers, and he wordlessly hands you a fresh toilet roll from the cabinet while he brushes his teeth; "thank you Kento" "mmmmmhm" and you continue chatting while you pee, leaving the bathroom door open. You forget to get off the toilet, so he brings you your tea there, while you continue to tell him about your day.

Laughing at Geto Suguru as he steps out of the bathroom after a bit of manscaping; "no no no-- go and get your razor, you're all patchy" "ah shit, really?" "yeah, you look like you've got a really bad gardener" "at least I try to trim the hedges..."

Plucking Fushiguro Toji's back hairs out one at a time; "OW-- dammit woman, stop doin' it like you hate me--" "--look, if you keep getting hairier, I'll just wax you instead, you're such a bear--" "--alright alright, I'll get your little witchy chin hair after--" "hey!"

Calling out to Okkotsu Yuuta while you're stuck on the toilet, blood over your hands and panties; "hey, Yuuta! Can you grab me some new underwear, and a pad?" "Sure!" Yuuta shuffles back to you, unfazed, as you hand him your bloodied panties to put in the laundry basket, "that bad, huh? You got enough stuff to last you?" "actually, I might need you to run to the shops..."

Creeping up behind Zenin Maki while she washes her bras in the sink, dropping a few of your own ones in, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek; "hey, hey, I'm not your washer woman" "yeah you are, such a beautiful washer woman" "psh...you're doing them next time"

Takuma Ino smiling as you curl on the sofa beside him in slummy old pyjamas full of holes (an ancient t-shirt of his, joggers you've had for at least ten years...), and you let out a fart; "sorry, sorry..." "don't be, I know you can do better than that" and Takuma lets one rip himself, sighing with relief.

Dropping your toothbrush down the toilet at Higuruma Hiromi's house; "ah, shit!" "oh, damn...just use mine" "eurgh, I'm not doing that!" "darling, be reasonable, I eat your pussy, we share much more--" "that's different--" "well by all means then, my love, enjoy your toilet toothbrush..."

Catching Todo Aoi taking a swig of milk out of the carton; "get a glass, jesus!" "whatever babe, it's just me and you here" "that is disgusting, unsanitary" "oh? I'll show you disgusting and unsanitary...c'mere"

When Kugisaki Nobara steps out of the bedroom, wearing your panties; "hey, they're my favourite!" "well they're my favourite too..." "yeah, on me! Get them off-- get back here--" and you dart after her, Nobara laughing as you try to pull your underwear off her, "help, help, I'm being assaulted!"

Catching Itadori Yuuji giving himself a scratch and sniff; "you absolute goblin-- go wash your hands!" Yuuji darts after you, laughing, his hand outstretched as you screech, ducking and running past him; "what, this hand? Come back baby! Where you goin'?"

Telling Fushiguro Megumi every single time you need to poop; "pause the movie! Gotta go poop," and he absolutely returns the favour, sitting on the toilet while you're taking a bath , "I'd wait...but I can't" "alright alright, just don't stink the place out" "I don't make promises I can't keep"

[voidcat]

characters: you/imaushi wakasa, sano shinichiro...

a/n: angst lol. strangers to friends. themes of fwb but nothing explicit. switch of perspective. mcd obviously,,

as i said in this post the loose explanatio/beginning of an idea i had that i liked ALOT but couldnt write due to various reasons (esp lck of time) (open post for a lil further stuff for reader x wakasa ig,,,)

attending the same classes as shinichiro sano... you've heard of him alright but that's about it. a nice face to look at perhaps but a little odd. not someone you'd interact with occasionally, nor someone you'd remember in particular-

until you're paired with him for an assignment. it'll help build bonds between the lot of you! the teacher announces and everyone groans in unision

you shoot your new partner to be a look from where you stand and turn back to your notebook. the ring bells but by the time you can get up adn gather your stuff, sano is nowhere to be seen

it takes you hours to find him. and at possibily one of the worst times too.

you heard of the rumors about fights and deliquents but you didn't expect yourself to run into one. youre careful, you live a peaceful life, you avoid trouble, always keep a clean name and all-

the people around all battered and beaten up, covered in bruises, cuts and maybe blood, looking hungry, unsatisfied, maddened– and you're in the center of it all.

footsteps approach you, strong, stern, taking their time and all- you hold it in you to not turn for a look. wait for them to show their face at your feet, dont give them the satisfaction nor even the slightest sign of weakness.

a man with blond hair and a pretty face, long lashes and all, stands before you, looking almost a little amused. "what's a pretty little thing doin' here all by themselv-" "where's sano" you cut him midsentence.

the man looks baffled, a little offensed even. soon joined by a second figure a lot taller than him, they both look at you with hostility and a hint of curiosity.

who cares, you scoff internally, whatever intimidation they're going for, you won't fall for it.

the other man raises a brow at the way you've mentioned sano. shit, you do hope this was not the wrong place, or whatever fight went down there, they must've won... right?

"and who is asking?" the blond speaks up again, sounding a little annoyed now. "you know, we don't allow passes to every pretty thi-" "eeeew" you drag the word and scretch like a gum, making sure to put on a face. "none of your business actually." you add on, placing your hand against a hip.

"why, you-" before he can follow up with whatever's on his tongue, a jolly greeting from behind interrupts him, cutting through the air. you can notice how the idle folks around suddenly tense up, and for the two man before you, shoulders dropped, bodies relaxing...

soon sano emerges, with his hair put up and stylized, nothing like the man in your class, a deliquent out of a shitty teen's magazine you'd say so.

exhanging greets with the two men and doing a special handshake for only them to know, he looks in the mood, just his face a little bruised up and some blood on his clothes.

so that's probably why he skips school some days, you muse.

he notices you a little later.

"oh!" mouth formed into an 'o' shape, you can see his surprise written all over but he is quick to disperse all that." greeting you with your surname formally, he reaches out a hand, then brings it up upon noticing the splatters of blood and takes it back with a sheepish smile.

"what brings you there?" he asks, never losing a bit of his joy that contradicts the entire atmosphere.

"our assignment." you say curtly and receive another sound of surprise from him. he looks apolegitic at the very least, you think.

"well.. uh-" he scratches the back of his head, casting a glance around, you wait to see where the stammering will go.

"how would you wanna do it then?" he asks more for you than himself, to ease you probably, you can only assume.

another joins their little group, keeping silent and watching what's going on. you relly, really should get going, you decide after giving a quick look around. "we can go over the details at an appropirate time later."

"alright then!" he says, never missing a beat from his energy. it's unbelievable, you think. "should we... ah-" he pauses, "exchange numbers to keep in touch then?" he asks, and he means well, you can tell just from the way he looks and talks, but the rest? you're not exactly dying to say out loud your contact information. especially not with that blond anywhere within a 20 meter radius.

"here." you say, reaching out your hand to reveal your phone. "i'm not announcing my number for a bunch of weirdo, self proclaimed deliquents to hear."

your words take him by shock but he breaks into a snort right after. the two men exchange a glance and a thug at their lips as well. the blond however does not look once pleased with your words.

or you at all.

you begin to come and go to their place often, the assignment builds up slow but steady and the guys seem reasonable enough after actually sitting down and hearing each other out. shin looks happy with the development too, says you have brought a change but you'd disagree. he is the light and sun and the beating heart of this place and wherever he goes, they follow, absolute devotion and belief in him, as a person, for his mind and for his heart.

you can see why, you can feel it too. once you begin to spend your time with shinichiro sano, all the rumors and speculations you've heard up until then are gone. assignment be damned, you can tell when a friendship begins to bloom and with shin- it happens at such a pace, you find yourself a little afraid.

the assignment ends, presentation and all, with flying colors you pass and decide to celebrate it out, with the rest joining as well.

a karaoke bar is all fun and games until night rolls out. it has gotten late but shin offers to walk you home; keizo and takeumi dragging a very drunk and messed up wakasa. everyone bids one another goodbye- save for wakasa... and you almost believe youhave seen a hint of sadness in their eyes as they bump their fists against yours. if you didn't know any better, you'd ever go as far as to say they'll miss you around.

a day passes, another and another... much to their relief and encouragement, you stick around.

not within the vicinity on the days big fights go around but definitely dropping by to hang out, fool around and whatnot. it's now your laughter mixed with shin's that fills the air, and everyone seems joyful and happy most of the time- save for imaushi wakasa.

for reasons unbeknowst to you, he remains hostile, rude, and on and up about sending your way stupid lines like he did the first time. most of the time you ignore him, which annoys him further– the scene alone brings a smile to your lips, the smirk of a vixen, you even overhear him once, yelling to keizo about you are, sounding very much frustrated.

despite this is how the things begin and roll out, neither of you expect to grow close- closer than you'd have imagined.

yes, you and shin might be the sunshines, but you and wakasa? the two of you become inseperable. you even hear some people mumble how they fear the two of you looking down at them, gazes that burn holes through their skulls, see into their souls... the two of you could make a power couple- if you were one at all.

there is the heat, there is the tension. you comb through his hair with a gentle touch that has wakasa melting in your hold, yet the second someone dares to imply anything more, you shoot them a glance so heavy, it'd crash their lungs.

wakasa hopes, in the end, that perhaps there is an end to it that is happy, that is hopeful. he knows there is no making up for the way he treated you but you were not the kindest toward him either, so it makes you equals, no?

so he sings sappy songs at karaoke whilst tipsy, so any accusation he can brush off as the effect of the booze, but hopes you caught how he looked at you. so he touches you as soft as you do him, trying to mimic your kindness, an attempt at how love, in the physical, in action should be.

he doesn't know any better, why should he? why should anyone to begin with?

it scares him how natural it is for shin and you. some days he finds himself envying the two of you even, would things be any different were you to attend the same school as the two of you? oh what wouldn't he do to be graced with your smiles and giggles all day every day, having you look at him as you rest your cheek against your palm–

he aches for something a tad normal sometimes, at the very least with you. would the two of you ever cross paths were it not for shin? the thought scares him and he feels like an asshole for envying his friend like this, desperate for anything that would come from your hands.

but at the end of the day, it is himself you seek out. his arms that you allow around your person, his lips on you, devoring you, it's wakasa that consumes you wholly and the thought brings a wave of comfort at the very least.

then the entire world collapses down in the span of 24 hours.

shinichiro dies.

almost 24 hours have passed since his death and wakasa still cannot find it in him to return to reality yet.

then like an angel amidst the chaos, you reemerge from the fog, from smoke. it doesn't take a genius to figure out something is wrong.

"waka," you call out to him, sound laced with something he cannot quite pinpoint. shutting his eyes completely, he sits in the same spot for a moment, all the doubts, every single negative, twisted and fucked up thng he has been holding at bay til now so close to breaking out.

you speak, but he does not hear the words.

not pass the 'i am leaving'

[nightlyrequiem]

hello there silly billy! How ya doin??!? 🥳

okaaayy short desc i know but could u do hcs of Valeria with a whiny, bimbo-esque type reader? Those shopaholic, blonde, pink-loving ladies xp ggrrr im found dead i love femmes

Im not sure if u do hcs and stuff like that so, if not, turn this into a oneshot or smth :3

Hello hello! I'm doing just well thank you for asking :) I hope you are dong well as well!

I love headcanons! Even though I haven't come up with many just yet. I also love femmes. Maybe I'm just being biased though :3

Also, this is like the third or fourth time I've mentioned a bedroom having soft pink bedsheets in my writing. Everyone must have soft pink bedsheets.

Valeria With a Bimbo!Reader

You are Valeria's prized possession. I think you two met after you had just moved to Las Almas. Maybe you worked at a bar, as an exotic dancer, or even just a simple grocery store cashier. It doesn't matter because as soon as Valeria caught sight of you she knew she had to have you.

It wasn't hard to woo you. You were already so bubbly and friendly that all she had to do was dangle some pretty gifts in front of you. And you, an eager, materialistic thing, could never even hope to resist the charming wiles of a rich older woman. You quit your job soon after you started dating Valeria. You were too pretty to have to have to live paycheque to paycheque.

You're into all the stereotypically feminine things. Dresses, skirts, makeup, one of your favourite hobbies is shopping and you're favourite colour is pink. If you aren't naturally blonde, Valeria will pay whatever she needs to so you can go to your monthly (Or weekly, I don't know how often someone has to go in to maintain blonde hair.) hair appointments to keep your hair golden. You've started trading in the heat of a curling iron for old fashion curlers to give your hair a voluminous lift. It drives Valeria wild when you walk into the bedroom in your little silk robe with the curlers in your hair. You whine and complain when Valeria messes it up during more heated moments. But how can you blame her? You just look so delicious.

I said it before, but I'll say it again. You are materialistic. And there is nothing wrong with that. Valeria doesn't have the time nor energy to go out with you every time you want to go shopping. Drug money and digital bank accounts don't really go hand in hand though so you're just carrying around thousands in cash.

You spend hours walking around stores and malls. Buying more clothes than you need. You're so generous though, sometimes you'll buy some pretty pink lingerie sets to show off to Valeria. Sheer garments with lacy trimming, soft silk, things with straps. Valeria likes the way you look in them, but she thinks you look even better out of them.

Valeria likes to choose your outfits. Short skirts, shorter shorts, flowery pink blouses, low cut tops that show off your chest, Valeria loves it. Sometimes she'll go through your closet and choose something for you to wear the next day. You'll wake up with the outfit neatly folded on the chair of your vanity.

Your bedroom was lackluster. You didn't really have the funds to do with it as you wished. But Valeria quickly fixed that. You got a new, bigger bedframe with feminine, coquettish detailings. Soft baby-pink bedsheets, a new high-end vanity with built in lights so you can take your time comfortably doing your hair and makeup. Girlish wall decor. You eventually moved in with Valeria but that didn't stop you from girlifying her bedroom. You leave your own decorations and sometimes purposefully leave a bra or two on the floor. Just to mark your territory.

I mentioned in a different headcanon post that Valeria's favourite colour is pink. her nails are canonically pink. probably my favourite detail on her game model if I'm being honest. Anyway, perhaps they're pink because you painted them. You wanted matching nails. If you like to wear fake nails, you tried to convince her to get a matching set but she didn't enjoy the feeling of them. Regardless, her nails ended up the same colour as yours!

It's not just her money that you're after though. No. Valeria is a busy woman, but you cling to her like a burr. Propped up in her lap like a little doll with your dramatic hair and pink, girlish outfits. Constantly pining for her attention. Dragging your long nails along her scalp and distracting her from her work. Annoying little thing. How could she possibly resist you with your glossy pouted lips and shimmery eyelids. Your favourite thing second to shopping is spending long hours with Valeria while she works. She recently bought a small couch for her office so you can be more comfortable.

Once again, Valeria is a busy woman. As much as she adores you, she can't spend all her time with you and sometimes goes long periods of time without talking to you. This is something that irks you greatly. You often get on her ass about it. Starting small, petty arguments as a way of expressing your feelings. Valeria always apologizes by buying you a pretty little gift and your back to peppering her face and neck with kisses in no time <3

[prettyboyformasks]

literally can't stop thinking about this one twt about rich husbands nikolai nd price + their pool boy, gaz, just tryna pay for college.

they sit and watch one day as he cleans their pool, gets all the icky stuff out. praising him for doing such a good job because they see the way it makes his knees go weak.

offering him drinks and flirting with him as they sit and drink together, watching him squirm as they hit on him. the poor boy doesn't know whether or not they're genuinely flirting with him or just being nice.

gaz finally finds out when price is holding onto his thighs while he fucks up into him, nikolai gently stroking his hard, leaking cock while he covers his beautiful, dark skin in kisses and hickeys. "doin' so good for us, kid. takin' me like you were fuckin' made for it," price mutters in his ear, only hearing whimpers in response.

they switch positions, letting gaz lay down over the pool chair. price fucking his throat while nikolai slams his cock in and out of gaz's once-tight hole.

gaz mumbling around the thick shaft that he's so close, needs more. "gonna cum, baby boy? yeah?" nikolai mumbles against his throat, biting down on the tender skin. gaz nods rapidly, his body trembling as price pulls his cock from his pretty little mouth and strokes it.

he sticks his tongue out while he waits for price's hot, sticky load to cover his face. gaz's moans get louder and more high-pitched as nikolai pounds his cock against his prostate, stroking his cock and milking every last drop of cum from him.

price finally shooting his load all over gaz's face, getting most of it in his mouth while he watches his husband's thick cock fuck into him. nikolai filling gaz with his seed, pulling gaz's hips into his to make sure he gets it as deep as he can.

ermm sidenote dnt bully my writing i know it's bad but BRO i need to get this stuff out of my brain and on tumblr cause u guys r freaks !! <3

[rocksibblingsau]

Umm... I think you forgot about Lownote and Country Branch?

Nope I'm just lazy and only thought of three at the time.

Country Branch: Lownote stopped a natural disaster (less tornado and more 'dimensional rift disaster') from hitting Lonesome Flats so they had a hoedown in his honor. Everyone came to give their thanks, Branch included.

Lownote noticed that Branch wasn't really partying so much as he was hosting. Not only that, but people would go up to Branch to bring up issues. Branch would go to grab some punch and someone would stop him to tell him that they're noticing thicker spiderwebs than normal on the bushes, so they're sure this winter will be a bad one. Branch grabs something to eat and someone comes to tell him the grain silo is rat holing and needs dealt with.

Lownote sees how busy Branch is and wants to help again, so he goes over and asks about that silo issue. Branch explains what it is (grain sticking to the walls) and how dangerous cleaning silos are. Lownote comes back the next day with a new invention to help (an acoustic cleaner, yes I looked up silos for this).

Branch gives his thanks again and Lownote has some weird feelings. Branch thanks him for saving the town and making him a cleaning invention about the same way, and compared to the praise he got for saving the town, Branch's is more comparable to someone thanking you for holding the door open. He finds he REALLY wants to impress Branch, but Branch is a hard person to impress. None of his fancy gadgets or gizmos work. He even resorts to MANUAL LABOR to try and impress Branch, but he still doesn't get much of a reaction.

I think Delta catches on and pulls him aside and is like "Sugar, what on Earth are you doing?" Lownote... does not have an answer because he's also not sure what he's doing. Delta thinks it's cute he keeps hanging around, not to mention he's proved his worth as a provider, so she's rooting for him.

Branch kind of assumes Lownote either 1. is just a super helpful person in general and he does this for every other tribe as well or 2. is ridin' high on praise. He doesn't see too much wrong with that, don't matter if you only help just to hear someone sing your praises, the work got done either way.

I like to think it's something small that got the reaction Lownote wanted. Branch ran into Lownote on his way to the general store (he ran out of buttermilk) and Lownote walks with him and helps him carry things home. Branch is confused and Lownote explains (a bit badly) he wanted to impress Branch. Branch finds it funny/cute and asks Lownote to bend down for a second. He does, and Branch gives him a kiss on the cheek.

Lownote continues to keep helping with stuff...

"You already got my approval, what are you doin' that for?" "I'll get another kiss, won't I, baby?" "If you wanted another kiss, all ya had to do was ask, you don't gotta go trudgin' through mud for it."

[dixonsluvr]

hiiiii ! would you mind dropping some hcs about lee everett from twdg if u wouldnt mind? <3

of course lovey!! i am a lee luvr EVERY DAY

LEE EVERETT HEADCANONS:

-FIERCELY protective. we've seen how he can get with clem, so he's always putting you before himself

-he doesn't seem it, but he can be really insecure. after the incident with his ex-wife, he's always terrified that you'll leave him and might need some reassurance.

-he has a lot of nightmares, some about losing you and clem, some about the walkers, but the most reoccuring one is a nightmare where he hurts you or clem. lee's killed people, and every time it eats at him, and he's terrified of one day lashing out and accidentally hurting you and clem (even though you assure him he'd never do that.)

-he sometimes wonders what happened to glenn and herschel, and you assure him that they're smart guys, and definitely could hold their own. (oops)

-lee met you after the fall. he was upfront and honest about his criminal background from the start, and, admiring his honesty, you two quickly become close.

-you two first get together after the dairy farm. as the group fights their way out, you catch a shot to the side from andrew. after lee carries you out, he worriedly wraps your wounds, murmuring to you "ain't gonna let you get hurt again.".

-he was DEFINITELY in multiple "cliques" through high school and college. i'm talking varsity wrestling, music club, student council, and history club.

-speaking of music, he has a beautiful singing voice, and you often ask him to sing while you play guitar.

-he was definitely into theatre in high school and college, but always opted to be backstage stage managing.

-one day, while scavenging, you find his favourite book in an abandoned library. he's elated, and then for the rest of your time, he reads the book out loud to you before bed each night.

-this man is such a nerd it's not even funny.

-he calls you and clementine "my girls"

-like just imagine this man getting back from a run, coming inside, clem running to hug him, and you walking over and kissing his cheek. he'd wrap an arm around the small of your back and chuckle. "how're my girls doin'?"

NSFW HEADCANONS:

-he's big. HUGE.

-usually he takes charge but one day you're feeling needy and flip him on his back, shutting him up, and he realizes he's REALLY into it.

-he's not very kinky at all, actually pretty vanilla.

-he is willing to try some stuff with you, maybe some dom/sub, rougher sex, bondage, or even hair pulling/choking

-he's always very gentle even when he's being rough. he's a physically tall, muscular man, and he's terrified of hurting you.

-no matter what you tell him, he'll never try to hurt you.

-bad luck if you're a masochist, because that's absolutely unacceptable for lee. he hates the idea of hurting you, and will never ever do it.

-he is a big fan of quickies, though. a quick blowie while you're on a run keeps him satiated for a while.

-he's got good stamina, and can usually go for 2-3 rounds.

ANGST HEADCANONS:

-he can be distant at times, and you were the first to know about his bite.

-he assures you you'll be okay, but you can't help but break down in his arms.

-when it's time for him to go, you're the one to do it. you won't make clem do it, ever.

-kenny ends up consoling you and clem for weeks.

-you end up as clementine's primary caretaker, and she becomes like a daughter to you.

[thatdeadaquarius]

This is riding off the language stuff in sagau but I just cant get it out of my head a reader who uses tumblr slang every once in a while. like they meet the Traveller and they're like "Omg I'm so cheesed to meet you!!" And the Traveller is just like "???" meanwhile Paimon integrates that into her vocabulary. And then maybe at some point, if the reader has a vision they're like "MAIMING AND BITING YOU" "THAT'S IT! I'M SENDING YOU TO EEBY DEEBY!" while their poor teammates are so confused. Just imagine going over to ppl like Razor, Klee, Chongyun and going "Awwww my lil scrunglos"

Just a very chaotic reader in general lmao

HEY WASSUP ANON

MY BRO THIS IS SO OLD BY NOW IM SO SORRY LMAO- SO ANYWAY HELLO!!! A DESSERT FOR UR PATIENCE 🍨🍧🛐

FOR WAITING SO LONG HERE IS SUM ASS WRITINF MY FRIEND HOPE U GET SMTH OUTTA IT

Bro imma be honest i missed out on some slang on tumblr bc i was off of it for awhile before i refreshed this old blog 

So my reaction to these slang words (except for scrunglies/scrunglos ik that one) is just as confused but also its rlly funny that im in the same situation as them LMAO 😭

☆

I would think honestly, even if ur doin it on purpose, 

I feel like some slang or refs r too ingrained into my soul to not make

So i would just accidentally use slang/memes, esp around funny ppl like Kaeya or Beidou, and then just give up eventually 💀

♤

So i stg everytime Xiao shows up in a event or smth it surprises me everytime lol

With his teleporting ability i would guess that if ur just chillin around Liyue anytime, Xiao just… shows up lol

Tea with Zhongli? Oh jesus Xiao’s here now.

Watching Xinyan and Yunjin play? Hes on the roof.

Picking ingredients with Xiangling to help her cook yall some amazing food?

Hes in the tree u were just picking Sunsettias in-

◇

So ur in Mondstadt, and ur like,

“oh well no Xiao here, huh kinda feels weird now”

eventually ur dumbass trips over nothing and goes tumbling down a hill, u know, as u do

Ur at the bottom like, 💀 

And its kinda hot and ur tired, and r selfaware of ur own goofiness so u just-

“I can see the end of the horizon, is this an internal dialouge-”

Xiao comes around the hill ur splayed at the bottom of.

UR STARTLED BC WTF MONDSTADT?? XIAO??? SO U JUST

“HATSUNE MIKU-”

CRYING-

AND XIAOS LIKE-

“??? No. It’s me. Xiao. The Yaksha Adeptus, my liege?”

HAHFLAHHAHA

AND HE KEEPS ASKING U WHO HATSUNE MIKU IS THE WHOLE WAY BACK TO THE CITY AS HE ESCORTS U LFMAO

♧

U see those scary ruin machines the ones with the fucking legs in Sumeru,

Cyno is ur bodyguard for the day, 

And at first he doesn’t see it, like its behind him, but it just like came around a corner, so it hasnt locked in on yall yet

(i headcanon that even if u r the Creator, these are machines, and dont have the sentience to even be self-aware let alone process wtf u are, ig if Khaeynriah made hella AI that is aware maybe it could fathom u)

◇

And u try to warn him but not scare him, so

“CYNO.

CYNO, THE HORSE IS HERE-”

Cue Cyno like

“A horse??? In the desert, Greatest Lord what the fu-”

Almost gets stomped on 😭 rip.

♡

U see Scara for the first time and u befriend him

Ur the only god besides Nahida he’s ok with aw

and one day he’s bodyguarding u around Sumeru 

He gets a little too into it and goes ham on several ruin machines

Like full on elmo burning anarchy meme, he's literally cackling floating above the pile of flaming metal-

And ur just clapping like: “that’s my skrunkly :) <3"

He literally interrupts his own cackle, its the most expressive youve ever seen him 

😶 😑 😶 ?????¿¿¿??¡¡?!!

HE WILL NOT STOP HARASSING U ABOUT WHAT IT MEANT LMAO

U usually define the words/memes as best u can but u specifically just call him that and never explain LOL

☆

🎵 HI. ITS ME. IM THE PROBLEM ITS ME. 🎵

SO SORRY ANON MY BEAUTY- I HOPE U CAN FORGIVE ME FOR TAKING SO LONG 🙏

I dont even mean just replying with a real thing^

I probably couldve posted ur ask w/o even adding onto it tbh

I dont think its anywhere near as chaotic as what u described but ya boy isnt the good at writing 😔

so i just focused on the memes 🤲

Have a good week anon :O !!

♡

Cheers,

🌒🌧🌊 💀Aquarius ♒️🌌🌘

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

[silverzoomies]

Politely requesting “he’s so…” for Jimmy Darling and James March, please and thank you.

💙 nsfw ahead !! pretty filthy, just a warning !! 💙 

"he's so" headcanons under the cut. so im not crowding up anyone's dash with my bullshit !! these might be wayyyy off,, pleasse do not trust my judgement at all. also, liz, i adore you just fyi ty !!

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💙 james march is so... 💙

he's so watches you at a distance solely with the intent to kill. bloodthirsty af. starts to notice how much of an innocent, little thing you are. you heart is purer than his could ever be in a thousand lifetimes. he keeps his distance for some time, but then you start to notice him. maybe he'll try and dance with you, so close you can feel his breath on your skin. listening to oldies you've never heard a day in your life. but he knows every lyric. every note. every beat. you can smell cigarette smoke on him. he reeks of it. along with...something else. but you'll never be able to place it. you can't seem to figure out why he's so ghostly pale. or why he gazes at you with a pitch black, void-like coldness in his eyes. He lures you in with promises of romance. tempting you into intimate, love making sessions. he'll ruin your perception of men forever. because no other man could treat you with such careful, sultry attention as he does. there's something almost...sinister about the way he touches you. his cold hands feel for your pulse points. making note of the jumps in your heartbeat. he touches your body, squeezing the muscles hiding beneath your delicate skin. you won't know it, but he's thinking about how aesthetically beautiful you must be on the inside. literally. he's thinking your innards are probably lovely. when you're finally together as one, his length moves with slow elegance inside you. drawing out your pleasurable suffering for as long as possible. he'll overstimulate you until you're sobbing. until you beg him to stop. but he won't. he'll grab your jugular and make you see white. in the end, you won't survive. your death will be gruesome and painful. someday, he'll regret having killed you.

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💙jimmy darling is so...💙

he's so diner date with a shared milkshake. orders whatever flavor you like. he has eyes like black cocoa. and, honey, they're lookin' you up and down every few minutes. he flirts nonstop. finds any and every excuse to touch you. patting you on the shoulder. guiding you along with a big hand on your back. grazing gloved knuckles over your arm mid conversation. he's pretty forward. unapologetically so. once he finally has you one-on-one, he tries to take things a little further. isn't afraid to be direct. but - ah...the two of you keep gettin' interrupted. he'll be leaning in for a smooch, a hand on your hip; but someone walks in. maybe it's eve, askin' his assistance settin' up new banners. sometimes, you find him stumbling around, drunk off his ass. it breaks your heart how often it happens. but he's so horny about it. says a lot of raunchy shit to you when he's completely smashed. it makes you blush. when he's hungover, he's grumpy as hell. his frustration'll slip in little ways, but he apologizes once he's sobered up. overall, he's real sweet on you. very sweet. even gets a little bashful once you're finally making out. he tastes like the booze he drinks on the daily. he'll get really handsy. and his hands are so, so massive and warm. they grab you hard, focusing careful attention to the squishy parts of you he loves so much. would take his time in bed with you. eases himself in slow, with consideration for your comfort. even though every instinct in him wants to stuff you so full so fast, you'll be aching for weeks. gets vocal, calls you little petnames. fixates mostly on your pleasure because that's what he's used to doin'. he doesn't expect you to focus too hard on his needs. but when you do, he's pleasantly surprised. cums a little sooner than he meant to. he'll lie with you afterwards. daydreams about stealing you away. maybe he'll run off you with you. make you his little housewife. but nah. he can't do that. his family needs him. he wonders if you'd be willing to stick around.

[chaosfairy18]

perchance some binch (buttons + finch) drabble??? they're my sillies and i love them so dearly /nfta

@finchesslingshott

First of all Hello!

I do have to say I don't really do much livesies/stage musical stuff (sorry) nor have I ever really done much thinking on Finch or Buttons even as individual characters nor as a ship (I prefer Redfinch) but since you've been so kind to send me an ask I tried my best. I really only have Hotshot as a recurring character in my writing and even then she is very different from canon Hotshot.

Buttons is Tadhg McCarthy (his canon name in UKsies) and he got the name because he 'has his buttons' (being smart) but I still made him sew. (Thanks to Nox for the UKsies infos <3)

Finch isn't even here that much but I write him mostly like my dear friend @clevereverest makes me think of him, I love her Redfinch writing

Mostly this is actually Buttons character study a bit and his friendship with another pickpocket who sews: Swifty. Because I am 99% 92sies focused and I needed to at least have one character I already know how to write.

Now enjoy: (750 words)

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

Buttons wasn’t sure what to do with Finch always having some rip in his clothes. Naturally he’d help him, but he wouldn’t be happy about it. For most people he’d ask for a fee for patching their things up – if they didn’t want that they could go to someone else – but with Finch he regrettably couldn’t do that as they were close.

Didn’t mean he had to be happy about not getting a bit more money.

Admittedly he had gotten more than enough today by relieving some people of their change.

In the bunkroom – where his sewing kit was – there was only one other newsie, Swifty, apparently doing the same thing. They got along well – thief’s codex and all that – so he sat on the bunk across from him to do his own stitching. “Hey Swifts.”

“Buttons.” Swifty grinned his usual lopsided grin. “Finch again?”

Buttons groaned, looking at the ceiling. “Idiot tears his thin’s every day. Shirts, pants, hat. Last week t’was his socks.” Of course he knew partly how it happened, Finch climbed up some tree and the branches nicked his clothes, he fell down and scraped his knees, he got in fights and teared something else.

“You’d earn a fortune if ya actually took his money.” As much as his tone was teasing, Buttons had a feeling Swifty was thinking something more than what should be going on.

“Can’t rob ‘im blind like that.”, he just said dismissively, getting out his scissors and thread.

“Mhm.”

“What’re you doin’ anyways? One of the littles ripped somethin’?” The kids always tumbled around and Swifty was close to both Flipper and Tumbler – mostly through them being close to Skittery and Bumlets, who were his best friends – and he’d also do a lot for Boots or Snipeshooter, not to mention Splasher. Though Splasher would have come to Buttons for sure.

Swifty held the shirt he was doing something on closer to Buttons, showing a little cat on the hem of it, embroidered in black. “I’m puttin’ little cats on all of Skittery’s clothes to see when he notices. I’m runnin’ out of clothes actually.”

“Bold of you to assume he’s lookin’ at his clothes when he puts them on.”

“It’s still fun. Tumbler loves it, says Skitts is like a cat anyways.”

They talked a bit more, also about what they had stolen the last few days, laughing about some of the close escapes they’d had or reactions they got after stealing various things. Swifty even managed to get a whole dollar, not even wanting to show it, already having it stocked away somewhere. Not that Buttons would have stolen it from him… probably. It would have gotten him such good clothes and sewing equipment though.

It was tempting, but thief’s honour kept him from actually doing it.

A bit later Finch came in, just as Buttons was almost finished, looking eager to get his vest back. “You done yet?”

“Almost.”, he just said dismissively, Swifty snickering from his bunk.

“Let the man work. With how much you’re givin’ him one could think you’re doin’ it on purpose.” Before Finch could reply to that, Swifty had jumped up, shoved the newly embroidered shirt in Skittery’s drawer and quietly disappeared down the stairs, steps light as always.

Finch’s eyes widened a bit, and he looked apologetic. “I promise I ain’t doin’ it on purpose, Tadhg. Just happens.”

“Yeah yeah. You’re just a clumsy bird.” Jumping up, cutting off the last thread, he held out the vest, newly patched, almost looking like new. Or at least the same as before. “There you go. Don’t go and rip it open again, if you keep givin’ me that much business I will have you pay for it. Runnin’ out of thread with all this.”

“I’m sure you won’t lose your buttons though.”, Finch laughed, referring to how Buttons got his nickname, from having all his wits with him. Having his buttons in order, so to speak. It was one of the better nicknames anyhow, as it also fit with sewing.

Finch slipped into the vest and grinned, leaning forward and kissing Buttons’ cheek. “Thanks again, really. I’ll get you some thread or cloth or somethin’. Promise.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Just don’t keep making people suspicious with all this. They’s bound to notice I treat you special.”

“Not that they’re wrong.”

“Finch.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pecked his lips. “See you later.”

Buttons got to sew up two more of his clothes just this week.

[alchemicalterror]

We don’t know very much about your parents or childhood— would you be willing to tell us anything?

...Yeah, that'll work.

So I was grew up in a small farming community in Georgia, born in the hospital in Athens down there. My family didn't have much money none, but nobody back home did, 'cept like three families with real big houses but nobody really knew them, they were just around.

Like most other folks, my parents kept a small farm - just too big to be called a home garden, though it was barely more than that if truth's to be told, and I was expected to help maintain it once I was old enough to lift the tools to do so. Wasn't a big thing, didn't have any kind of commercial stakes or nothing, just enough to bring 'round into town to sell off extra, but there wasn't much extra most of the time.

Vegetable fields, some corn, fruit, that kind of thing. Had a handful of chickens, couple sheep, a goat. Not enough room for cattle, not unless we wanted to give up all the food we grew for people in favor of growing grass instead.

Dad fixed things in town - stuff like locks, door hinges, window panes, gutters and barn doors. Roofing, from time to time. Nothing electric, nothing where he'd need to tear down a wall, but folks paid decent money for him to clamber all over their property and keep it in one piece. Mom made stuff, mostly for events or the other ladies around, pretty things like lace trims or doilies or what have you. Lotta scalloped edges for funeral parlors or to put as settings for a wedding time and again.

Simple kind of upbringing with a buncha simple kinda folk.

Not... bad folk. Parents insisted I go to school even with all the farm work, s'pecially since I was a bright kid. Valedictorian, Highschool and beyond. Ma was real proud of me for that. Told her I was gonna be a doctor when I done it, and I don't think I'd ever seen her or dad smile so broad as when I said it before or since, not even my wedding day.

I ain't... I ain't talked to 'em since I got arrested that first time. Sent 'em enough money to pay off their mortgage years back, mind, and ain't seen either of their obituaries neither - I check every couple months - so I hope they're doin' okay. I hope they know they can reach out if somethin' goes wrong. Sometimes I wonder what they must make of me, the way the news paints me as it tends to, as a maniac and a madman.

I wonder if they've found this blog. I wonder if they'd read it if they had.

Either way, it wasn't a bad life. Simple, poor, but I never went hungry. Never went to feel like I didn't belong, or didn't have parents who loved me or nothin'. It's just been an awful long time since I felt like I had anything worthwhile to talk to those poor, simple folks about anymore.

[elvisabutler]

a love supreme seems far removed

summary: it appears old wounds between you and professor presley die hard after one particularly pleasurable but exhausting incident. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: professor! elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x student! female reader ( nicknamed belle ) word count: 2462 warnings: big daddy elvis. elvis using a walking stick/cane. implied praise kink. student and professor relationship ( everyone is of legal age ). use of the derogatory name jezebel,in a negative way toward oneself. caning in a sexual way/sexual punishment way. negative self talk. dom/sub dynamics though not explicitly stated. near use of a safe word. sub drop. mild daddy kink? it's there, belle calls him that once or twice and elvis refers to himself as big daddy once. abandonment issues. author’s note: so this was sort of an accidental fic. once upon a time an anon came into my inbox and mentioned liking my fic about belle and professor presley with belle experiencing sub drop. i had never written that but between my right hand woman for belle and elvis @butlersxbirdy ( seriously, y'all she is the reason this entire series exists ) and my baby girl @stylespresleyhearted going "OKAY BUT CAN YOU DO IT THO I WANT IT." this fic was born. special thanks as always to my discord wives, christi and marina and for kicks also bee who i made love big daddy with these two. as always i love the love this fic series gets and truly i live for comments and questions regarding it or any of my serieses/fics. hell, the reason this series is a series is because y'all keep requesting more stuff from it. pay no mind to the moodboard as far as physicality goes or ethnicity, i just basically fell in love with her face because of daisy jones and she's got the right vibe.

It's funny, you think, how once upon a time the things you do with Elvis were things you shied away from with your other- partners if you could even call them that. There's something to be said about the sheer ease at which Elvis puts you in to make you agree to anything. You figure it's because you know he'll always take care of you. You figure it's because of how he'll stop if you cry out in more than just a pleasurable pain. No, he'll make sure you're alright, make sure his precious Belle, his angel sent from God himself is alright.

Smack.

A low keen leaves your mouth at the sting of his cane against your ass, hitting a spot still a bit tender from a week ago. Elvis had asked if you were alright with this, asked if you were ready to take this on this soon and it had been an easy question to answer. Of course you were alright because you had been the one to ask for it again. It's not that you needed it- craved it every second of the day but you knew very well you had nearly gotten yourself and him in some very hot water. It deserved more than his words of admonishment murmured against your neck and your hair. It deserved the caning that he rarely brings out but that you know tends to set you straight. Tends to keep you in line in a way you'll both never admit or question beyond these moments when he uses it. Your hand starts to move toward your ass, wanting to rub the spot that's sore before—

"Hands on the bed. Ya know better. Keep 'em where they're 'posed t'be," Elvis commands as your hands settle back against the bed. Back to where they ought to be because Elvis- Big Daddy- Professor Presley told you to keep them there.

"Elvis—" you start before another smack of the cane has your ass jiggling and has him chuckling a little as his ringed hand palms the area. You hiss.

"Ya asked for this, 'member? Told me ya needed the lesson, hm? Needed t'be 'minded that ya need t'be good, right? Keep that tongue o'yours in check. Doin' so good, Y/N. Doin' so good. What number we on?"

Your mind, fuzzy as it's becoming can focus on the number, can focus on something, settle on something that allows you to not float completely away. The grounding element of everything that keeps you tied to the Earth, tied to him and your life together. Your mouth opens and one single word falls out, "Three."

"Outta five, that's right, Belle. But ya haven't been countin' 'em out loud, have ya? Been tryin' to keep me from hearin' ya? Hearin' what my cane does to ya?" Elvis allows himself to lean against you, to press his stomach against your burning backside, his own warmth both a balm and an irritant against it. His chest hair scratches at your skin and earns a light whine as some rubs just the wrong way, the friction unwanted for now.

"Yes," you whine, arching your back as if to tease when really you only want to chase after the feel of the cane, of his body against yours in order to float and to feel safe. At your arch, he moves off of you and brings down his cane once more, this time closer to your vagina, in that dip where your thighs and butt meet. The part where his hands would grip and squeeze and slap when you rode his cock or his thighs. The number slides through your brain and into your mouth. "Four!"

You hadn't meant to shout the number but the sting overwhelmed you, the sting almost had you telling Elvis to stop, that this was too much too soon after the last week. It stopped though, the urge to tell him to set down his cane and pull you into his arms stopped. Still, even with your lack of asking, there's a pause with Elvis, a pause that has him leaning against you once more, his hand automatically starting to palm your ass. "Y'alight?"

He expects an honest answer out of you as you expect honest answers out of him when he wants to pretend his body isn't betraying him and hurting him. The bright side of when you do things like this, when you trust him to remind you to be a good girl- a good woman- you'll always tell him the truth.

A nod is what you manage before your body slumps forward just a little, the effort of holding yourself up on your hands against the bed becoming just a bit too much to handle. Elvis ought to stop right there and he knows it, can see an exhaustion settling into your body but a promise is a promise and he allows himself one final smack of the cane, lighter than all the others at the most fleshy and least bruised part of your behind.

"Five," you murmur against the sheets of the bed, your eyes a little glassy as he moves the cane to the side and tries to pull you up to a standing position. He manges it just barely but you lean against his chest, hand snaking up his chest to run your fingers through his chest hair. "Shower?"

You think it's you who asked for a shower but you're not sure, not sure with how your clit throbs and aches as it always does when Elvis does this to you, whenever you do something similar to this. Whenever he disciplines you like you deserve to be, because a simple talking to wouldn't have done, your body needed to know what was at stake. Whoever asked didn't matter as Elvis helped you walk to the bathroom anyway, his hands moving between your legs, playing with your clit, sliding his fingers between your folds gently as you rested your body against his own. It doesn't take long to finish the shower, doesn't take long for Elvis to wrap you in a towel and dry you off, only detaching himself to grab pajamas for both of you. You hadn't been this way last week but it had been earlier in the night, perhaps you were just tired from the day.

The bed sheets and Elvis provide a warmth that finally drags you into the land of sleep willingly and gladly.

It's cold.

It shouldn't be cold, you think. Elvis runs as hot as a furnace and usually makes you so hot that you have to slip from under the covers in the middle of the night. Your eyes blink to try and adjust to your surroundings and you realize it is the middle of the night. Why is it cold in the middle of the night?

Your heart lurches in your chest, moving upward to your throat as your hand moves to Elvis's side of the bed only to feel cool emptiness beside you.

Elvis isn't there. Elvis isn't beside you. You are alone in your shared bed. Was it shared any more? Was this his way of telling you to leave? After everything? Had you finally made him realize you made a mistake?

There's a sliver of your brain, of your mind that knows the thoughts that are swarming your mind are silly and yet you can't listen to that sliver. It's wrong. Elvis isn't here with you. Why hadn't he fucked you to sleep? Why hadn't you woken up with his soft cock inside of you? Had Daddy- Had Elvis taken care of you after he hit you? Where was he? Why wasn't— Why wasn't he here? He left you. He's leaving you. He's going to kick you out when the first rays of sunlight enter through the curtains.

You don't know when you start to sob, don't know when your body starts to shake, the overwhelming lack of warmth settling into your bones, don't know when your stomach threatens to empty onto the bed. All you know is that they happen all at once. All you know is that you've done something to make Elvis abandon you.

Maybe, maybe he was still in the house, maybe you didn't disgust him so much he had to leave the entire house. If you called for him maybe he'd come. Maybe you could find out— maybe you could convince him that it was fine. You were still worthy of his love.

The wail that leaves you would embarrass you in any other context. It would mortify you if your brain could process what was happening.

He hadn't quite registered that the noise he heard was you. Hadn't quite registered that the wail he heard was you. Graceland occasionally made noises that didn't make a whole lot of sense and that hadn't changed in the entire time you've been with him. It's only when he gets closer to your shared room that he hears your wail, your moan of unmitigated distress and anguish and knows it's you. He moves as fast as his body will let him and practically slams open the door, ready to use old karate moves and the gun he's got hidden in his dresser to defend you only to realize there's no one in the room but you.

There's no one in here who could hurt you and yet you're clutching at your stomach, curled in on yourself, looking as if you want to vomit all over everything. When you look up at him he sees your glassy eyes staring back at him, unshed tears in them to go with the ones streaming down your face. He opens his mouth to ask you what's wrong only to hear your whimpers and whispers to yourself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry D- Elvis. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It practically sounds like a mantra, a chant you'd only a monk say. It sounds wrong coming from your lips. What did you have to be sorry for? What would make you act this way? In what feels like a flash he moves to sit next to you on the bed and starts to touch you.

For once you shy away from his touch and Elvis's heart falls through his body to the ground. You never do that, even when the two of you hadn't worked through the dumbest set of issues known to man you had never shied away from his touch. Normally you would sink into it, but— what had he done to you. Had earlier been too much? Had he broken something inside you in a way he hadn't before?

"Y/N? Belle? What—" He doesn't get the question out before you whimper.

"You were gonna leave me like I did to you. I— I was alone. You hate— you don't love me anymore. Don't want to be with— you realized what everyone else does."

Tour Guide. Used. Whore. Bel— Jezebel. Not worthy of being with him or anyone else. But especially not him. Not worthy to spend the rest of your life waking up with him. Not worthy to have children with him.

Your hands tighten around your middle even more, as if that's the part of you that needs shielding the most. As if that will make the nausea you feel go away. As if it'll keep your stomach from revolting even as you feel Elvis's hand on your shoulder, tight as it was the first day he met you.

"My— Y/N. My angel from heaven. My Belle. No—" He pulls you into a hug despite your protests and your shaking head. "I couldn't sleep. I was downstairs. You—Belle. I— After everything, I would never do that to you. I could never hate you."

"You did," you whimper, your shoulders shaking even as you feel some form of warmth from him sinking through your pajamas and into your soul. "You did. You— I left you and I deserve— I don't— I made you hate me. You're gonna—"

Elvis shushes you, forcing your body against his, forcing your chest to rub against his, his chest hair brushing against the faintest bit of skin your pajamas show. "No. You're my good girl, Belle. Always have been even when I was so angry with you. I'm here. Your Big Daddy's here." He uses the nickname you had let slip that one time so long ago, knowing he finds it funny. It's supposed to put you at ease and he feels a tension in your shoulders lessen at it.

"For— You won't make me leave?" That's the question you ask, not does he still love you, because the two go hand in hand in your mind. For him to love you, he can't abandon you.

His answer should be silly, it should make you roll your eyes but something deep inside you finally uncurls when you hear him sing one of his own song lyrics acapella. "A team of wild horses couldn't tear us apart."

A sob, stronger than the rest wrenches itself from your throat, finally earning a proper release as he holds you even tighter through the tears, his hands petting your hair, murmuring soft words of comfort. You know the position has to be uncomfortable for him but he doesn't complain, too focused on making sure you're alright. Your tears and shivers finally settle into something manageable after what feels like hours and Elvis moves to lay you down on the bed, his hand still rubbing on your chest, right where your heart is. A whimper escapes your lips in fear only for him to shake his head.

"Let me get on my side of the bed. Then ya can curl up to me," he says and to show you how serious he is, he manages to clamber on top of the bed from the bottom, his hands never leaving your body, the warmth from his touch— his always burning hands allowing embers of warmth to blossom slowly but surely inside of you.

The second he's under the covers, you move to lay on top of him. He can't abandon you, can't leave you without warning if he has to move you from atop his body. Your hands haven't left your stomach as it still continues to roil and twist inside you, the nausea refusing to abate. Elvis looks at you and follows where your hands are before placing the hand that rubbing against your chest onto your stomach. For some strange reason it calms your stomach, allows for your body to settle down, and allows for you to lock your arms around Elvis's middle.

"Stay," you whisper, placing a kiss against his skin.

"Wouldn't dream of doin' anything but."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted y'all know the drill with the taglist by now.

[punsmaster69]

14/JAN/20XX

"MK, dude. You're gonna kill him."

frisk picked up their kickball that's narrowly missed me enough times to make me reconsider my seating.

"Sorry, Sans."

"Should we move this somewhere else?"

"Your back yard has more space, right?"

"Yeah. Race you there!"

"On the count of three."

"You can count!"

frisk inhaled...

"Okaythreetwoonego-"

darting instantly around the back of the house.

"Wai- Frisk, that's not fair!!"

clearly caught of guard, monster kid gave chase.

"......."

"You're just gonna watch them leave?"

"i'll get up in a sec."

"Gee, some kind of babysitter you are."

"like i said, i'll get up in a sec."

"besides, this isn't technically babysitting."

"How is it not?"

"not my job."

"Didn't Toriel put you up to this or something?"

"nope."

"Why are you even here?!"

"bored."

"Don't you have anyone else to bug?"

"nope."

"Papyrus?"

"working with asgore. doin' ambassador stuff."

"Alphys?"

"on a date with undyne."

"Grillby?"

"bothered him enough yesterday."

"You could go work for once. Pay him back."

an unusual amount of exhaustion slows my every movement today. not the lazy slow i've typically got; slow like sludge.

i blame it on the dog that wouldn't stop rifling through everything in my room. normally i'd kick it out, but then it'd go bug papyrus. knowing ahead of time he'd be busy today, i'd let it annoy me for the night.

"i'm bored, but i'm not 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 bored."

"Lazy ass."

"the rest of me's lazy too, y'know."

grabbed his pot and carried it with me to the back porch with me. i was met with a frankly surprising lack of complaints, his scowl being the extent of it.

he ignored my reply.

"Fine. Not Grillby, not Papyrus, not Alphys..."

"Don't you hang out with Napstablook sometimes?"

"yeah."

"Why not them?"

"they're with mtt. calling mew, i think."

"...How's she doing?"

"𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 wondering how someone's doing?"

"feelin' alright, bud?"

"Shut up. I'm only asking because she's tolerable compared to a lot of you."

"I relate to her constant rage, on some level."

"last i heard, the idol stuff was going well."

"Getting paid to do nothing but look good..."

"I'd say it sounds like easy cash, but I know 𝘆𝗼𝘂 couldn't do it."

"i do plenty of nothing."

"The looking good part."

"you'd be surprised at how low standards are these days."

"Yours specifically?"

"That's no shock. Your jacket's got a stain on it RIGHT there."

"eh."

"When's the last time you washed that thing?"

"at least sometime last month."

"Eugh!"

"I'm surprised you don't smell like anything worse than ketchup."

"my lack of body with which to produce odor contributes to that."

"......."

"you totally stink though."

"I don't have a body either, idiot!"

"got the odor though."

"I don't sm- HEY!!!"

the kickball slammed against the railing flowey was on, giving him a good shake.

"WATCH IT!"

"Frisk, dude. You're gonna kill him."

mocking tonality, soon broken with giggling.

frisk punched them in the shoulder before running back in the yard to receive the kick from monster kid.

"Both of them need to get better."

"at playing?"

"Whatever game that is."

"why don't you go play with 'em?"

the incredulous look he gave me was expected.

"Because I don't have limbs??"

"so you'd play if you could."

"No! It looks boring."

"yet you watch them play."

"Watching is different!"

"watching is looks."

"and you said it looks boring."

"Shut it, herd."

"nope."

knowing full well that i was letting myself be lulled by the sun and gentle breeze into a nap, right there in tori's porch chair.

[chained-sweater]

୨୧ passionate poets

— a/n : prompt two for day two of @outsidersweek. the poems used in this story are not mine. they belong to their rightful owners.

— characters : ponyboy "pony" curtis, dallas "dally" winston

— timeline : one year post-canon (my au)

— warnings !! : none

— chapters : 2/7

— word count : 800

it was a cool august evening. i sat on the front porch smoking a cigarette, watching as the sun began to set. it was hard to believe a year had already gone by since the windrixville incident. johnny'd been discharged from the hospital a while back and his hands had healed enough that he could walk with his crutches. my hair had started growing back, the ends still bleached. i didn't want to cut them off. they reminded me of how i went through so much trauma and still made it out alive. besides, i liked them. they made me look cool.

i blew out a smoke ring just as i heard a whistle. it started low and long and ended on a high note. i blinked, and saw dally walking over.

"hey, kiddo," he said, sitting down next to me. "whatta ya doin'?"

i handed him a weed. "jus' watchin' the sun," i answered, looking back over at the sunset. the sky had turned a pretty pink, with gold glittering on the horizon. it made me smile.

dally blew out a plume of smoke. "why d'ya watch these things, anyway?" he asked, cocking up an eyebrow. "they're nuthin' special."

"they're special to me," i said, taking a long drag of my weed.

"mmhmmm," dally said, gazing at the sunset. "that's a lotta gold there, huh? gold and red."

i remembered a conversation i had with johnny in the church. i smiled. "nature's first green is gold," i said softly.

dally turned to me. "what?" he asked gruffly.

"nature's first green is gold,

her hardest hue to hold.

her early leaf's a flower;

but only so an hour.

then leaf subsides to leaf.

so eden sank to grief.

so dawn goes down to day.

nothing gold can stay."

dally stared at me. "what?" he asked dumbly after a long pause.

"it's a robert frost poem," i explained, tossing my cigarette snub at the ground and stepping on it. "i told johnny about it while we was at the church. he liked it." the memory made me smile.

dally blinked. "uh huh," he said. he flicked his ashes away and his eyes returned to the sunset. "you read poetry?"

i shrugged. "sometimes," i said.

dally nodded.

we were quiet for a while, watching the sun as it melted away into the horizon, until dally said, "i shall not live in vain."

it was my turn to be confused. "huh? i said.

"if i can stop one heart from breaking,

i shall not live in vain;

if i can ease one life the aching,

or cool one pain,

or help one fainting robin

unto his nest again,

i shall not live in vain."

i gaped at him. "you know emily dickinson?" i asked breathlessly.

dally chuckled under his breath. "yeah," he said. something in his eyes turned soft. "my da loved her poetry," he said quietly. he blinked rapidly, drawing in a deep breath.

i tilted my head, staring at him curiously. "really?" i asked, voice soft. "did he read her stuff to ya?"

dally nodded. "yeah," he mumbled, voice wavering slightly. "he...he did. he'd read her poems to me every night before bed." he tossed his weed away; i noticed his hand was shaking. "he'd go to our neighbor across the hall where we lived and ask her to translate the poems so he could understand 'em." he was talking way too fast and his voice was shaking. "our neighbor was one of his friends he'd known back in russia and she knew english, so she'd translate them for him so he could read 'em to me. sometimes mama'd come in and listen. she liked hearing him read; helped calm her down." he stopped, staring blankly down at the ground. he was trembling, and his eyes were wide and his face was real white. (well, whiter than usual. dally was real pale.)

suddenly he jumped to his feet. "i'll see you later," he said hastily, swiftly walking away from me. he tripped over his feet a couple times before he got himself under control, and kept on jogging away. i watched him until he was gone.

the sun had gone down and the air was chilly. i got up and went inside, sitting on the sofa, my mind reeling. dally never talked about his parents; his real parents, that is. he never said why. i always thought it's because something bad happened to them, or they abandoned him. that last one didn't seem real probable to me anymore. from what dally said, it sounded like his parents cared about him. or his dad did, anyway. i was still unsure about his mom. but i suppose i could find out about her another day.

୨୧ end of prompt two

[sickficideas]

back by unpopular demand, ray ✨

I promise I have more than just SKK stuff but the two I came up with have been Skk 😭 bear with me. Anyway- so ya know that silly Hc that Dazai lived in a shipping container. Well there’s no way that shit has good installation. So back in the port mafia he during a really bad winter he got sick from being too cold. He didn’t show up for a few days so Mori sends chuuya to drag him to work but chuuya finds a half passed out feverish Dazai on a mattress in a shipping container. Calling Oda they take him back to odas place and being the good dad Oda is he gets him some warm cloths and lets him sleep in his bed. Chuuya sits with him and makes him soup or gets him cold rags, he claims he dosnt care and he’s just doin it cause he has to for Mori. But he’s not fooling anyway.

Anyway! Sorry that one was so long, I promise I have more than just Skk stuff 😭 but stay safe and take it easy :3 -Ray!

noooo Ray, shipping container Dazai is real 😭 i whipped out Stormbringer for you (pages 99-100 + a drawing from the light novel where they're in the shipping container) (also I'm so hurt by how miserable Dazai looks in this)

the worst part is that it's in a toxic waste dumping site...it HAD to have negative effects on his health so i totally see this happening 😭 i bet Chuuya had no idea for the longest time and after this happened he started finding himself checking on Dazai regularly or offering his place to stay at instead, Dazai was so sick when it happened that he doesn't remember much of that so he doesn't realize the reason Chuuya starts going out of his way to make sure he sleeps elsewhere ... Dazai starts showing up at Chuuya's apartment when it's too cold and even though Chuuya freaks out every time he sees a body under his sheets when he gets home he'd rather that happen than have to see Dazai so sick again 😭😭😭

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day sixteen

@ailesswhumptober 16 — drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.” ↳ brooklyn, circa 1900 word count; 1.5k

cw; violence, mentions of murder, implied drug use, mentions of abuse, mentions of death

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Got a job for youse," Wiesel says, just as they're about to start heading home — because of course he fucking does. The sun is just starting to set and Oscar's hungry, been planning what he's gonna make himself and Mo for dinner, trying to remember if they've got anything that Morris'll eat within the already scarce stock of food in their cramped kitchen. But apparently dinner's delayed.

"What job," Oscar asks flatly, trying to keep his irritation out of his tone. His head's already throbbing from every hit throughout the day, and he isn't in the mood for another.

"Jus' some work over in Brooklyn," his uncle explains, faux-casual, not looking at him. "Got a fella over there ain't paid what he owes. You know how it is."

Oscar does. He exhales, drags an ink-stained hand down his face. It's already getting dark, and if they gotta walk to Brooklyn and back, ten goddamn miles—

Wiesel shoves a ruddy hand into his coat pocket and comes out with something, shoves it at Oscar in turn, and Oscar instinctively holds his palm out to take it. It's a piece of paper torn from one of the pads at the distribution office, scrawled with the name of a man and the name of a bar, and the fare for the trolley up to Brooklyn.

"Get you some money for your troubles too," Wiesel says. "When you're finished up."

Oscar. Exhales.

"Alright," he mutters, and off he and Morris go.

The trolley ride is nice, at least. It's better than the horse-drawn ones, thank fuck, and thankfully less crowded now than they all are during the day. Still plenty of people, but few enough that none of them are touching Oscar, and Morris is free to twist backwards in his seat and watch the passing scenery out of the window. It's a comfortable silence, the rattling of the trolley along the wired tracks becomes almost soothing. Oscar could fall asleep if he let himself — he's close when they get onto the bridge, but he nudges Morris instead. Drags him up and then blags the driver into letting them off there.

"Why'd we get off here," Morris asks, when they've got their feet on the pavement and trolley is rattling off, leaving them in the half-darkness of the street just past the end of the bridge.

"'Cause the trolley ain't goin' where we are. C'mon."

So they walk. Turn the corner from the bridge and keep walking perpendicular to the river. The place they've been directed to is somewhere near the Navy Yard, Oscar knows, but they don't get all too far before Oscar is pausing, eyes catching some shady-looking figures in the shadows of one of the abandoned warehouses. Two broad men conferring beside a backdrop of rusted metal and broken glass, something being exchanged. Shady. He puts his arm out across Morris' front to keep him back.

"What's goin' on?" Morris asks.

"Reckon we found our guy," Oscar says.

It only takes a moment before they're spotted too.

The guy facing them pauses in the conversation, gaze catching on Oscar looking right back at him, and in a moment he's alight with defensive fury. The type Oscar remembers from his father — the fury of a man drunk. A man loaded on some other stuff too.

"Watch it," he warns his brother sharply, and then the guy's on them. The first punch is thrown at Oscar, all clumsy brute strength, and though he manages to dodge it, the man collides with him from the force of it, and the two of them go staggering. Oscar shoves him off, hard, but the guy's big. Solid. Smells of whiskey. Smells like Da.

"Nosy fuckers," he spits. "Fuck're you doin' spyin', huh? You been sent after me?"

Doesn't seem like the right time to tell him yes. Oscar goes for him instead, and lands a solid punch across his jaw. The guy keels forward from it, would fold right over if it weren't for the hand he manages to catch himself with against the pavement.

"Fuck!"

He forces himself back up, and throws himself at Oscar again.

It'd be a vastly different experience, to fight like this in Lower Manhattan. It's where they usually do it, but around them there they've got the newsies and cops and countless people they know — or that know them. There's witnesses, an audience. It's why they usually keep it to the back alleys, between buildings, behind bars.

But Brooklyn operates differently.

It feels like they're alone for miles, as much as Oscar has heard about Conlon's eyes in every corner, the way news travels past the bridge. It feels deadly quiet all around them noe, though, no lights in the warehouses and factories lining the riverbank, just empty industry. Nobody to come running as Oscar gets his target to the floor and lays into him, and the man starts hollering. Screams that echo off of the riverbank, the empty streets. Screams that garble with every hit of Oscar's brass-enclosed fist.

He can hear Morris behind him somewhere, dealing with the other guy, and the rush is familiar but no less welcome. The euphoria of himself and his brother living like this, finally the ones to be scared off after all those years spent beaten down small and silent. He could happily stay like this forever, lost in the methodical rhythm of hit after hit after hit, warm blood hitting his skin — but they were given specific orders.

He draws his fist back, and the guy splutters, wheezes. His face is swollen, a mess of blood and gored cuts reflected in the soaked metal cradling Oscar's knuckles. Dripping.

"Ain't gonna kill you," Oscar says, breathing heavy. "Mo."

The street falls into silence again as Morris stops too, obedient for once. Oscar glances over and sees his brother's hand soaked black in the darkness, bare knuckles torn open, but it's how Morris likes it. A way of hurting himself he can get away with. Oscar exhales.

"Dunno what the fuck you're in debt for," he tells the man beneath him. "Though I can take a guess. But you better pay up, to Wiesel or whoever the fuck. Else we'll be seein' each other again."

He pats the guy's cheek, offers him a shitty smile. And then hauls himself up, muscles stiff and aching from the exertion, but there's a satisfaction to it that overwhelms the negatives. He feels alive. Feels powerful.

And then the guy he'd climbed off of goes for him again, shoots up like a dying wind. He wraps his arms around Oscar's middle as if to haul him up, try to throw him, but Oscar's stronger than he looks and considerably heavier. Dense muscle that makes up for a narrower figure.

"Get the fuck off me—" he chokes out, and, to his surprise, the guy does. Staggers backwards, chest heaving, something mad in his eyes lit up by the city behind Oscar.

He goes for Morris next.

It's the exact same tactic, winding thick arms around his waist and hauling him up — but on Morris, it works. He's scrawny, more speed and grace than strength, and he's effectively helpless when he's off the ground. Kicks and fights, and when that doesn't work, shouts out for Oscar. Oscar tries to run to him immediately, instinctively, but the man Morris had been dealing with grabs him by the leg and holds him immobile as he fights to his feet. Holds Oscar entirely then, an arm around his chest, restrained to do anything but watch.

"The fuck are you doing?" he barks, and is ignored. The guy just keeps carrying Morris, closer and closer to the edge where the street ends. To the sheer drop into the East River, ten or fifteen feet at least—

Oscar starts feeling kind of sick.

"Hey," he hollers, writhing against the arms around him. Morris is screaming, and it echoes just as the guy's had, bouncing off of the hopeless, empty streets all around them. "Hey! Let him the fuck go! No! No! Fuck, he's a kid, he can't even swim—no!"

The sound of Morris hitting the water seems deafening. The arms holding Oscar let him go, and he's left reeling, heart in his throat.

"He dead?" the guy behind him asks.

"Will be," the other spits. "Dunno how anyone could survive that."

Oscar ignores them. Can hardly hear them anyway over the blood rushing in his ears, the whole world muffled like he's underwater too. He takes off running, rounds the sheer edge to where it smooths into the jagged rocks of the bank, strips his jacket off, and jumps in. Just like he did when they were both children and Da tossed Morris into the lake on the farm, said it was just to teach him how to swim.

Oscar'll save his brother again.

Or, at the very least, they can go together.

[harrisonbrainrot]

S/o that also has similar car mechanic aspirations as Modern!Han?

Possibly could be a hobby or interest of theirs but then don't specifically work in that field, yet when they're free they help out Han in his little personal car/motorcycle projects.

Like s/o teasing and being sarcastic towards han saying hes doing something wrong or using wrong item and him getting annoyed or something. Or just even being helpful by passing tools and parts, or holding things.

Thoughts?

I do have thots on this because I come from a line of mechanics, so here it goes:

At first it starts out as just wanting to spend time with Han while your relationship is new and fresh. Which meant a lot of time spent in his garage, music blasting, him smoking, and Chewie lounging on the cool floor. It slowly turned into a game of twenty questions every time you were in there. 'What does that do?', 'how do you know that's broken?', 'my car makes a clunking noise but it drives just fine.' Han is always amused by your questions, answering them like you were five given the fact that your knowledge was minimal at best. Then that turned into little lessons. How to change and rotate tires. How to change oil. How to check and change your fluids. Flush your lines. Change your brakes. Soon enough, your car is in the garage and he's teaching you how to fix your own.

'Hold the light right there. No, over a little more, over. Okay, stop. Jesus christ, girl..' is a common occurrence. It takes some adjustment, he's completely used to doing this on his own. He knows how to do this all on his own, he doesn't need help. However, he's not going to deny a pretty little thing her wish to get her hands dirty. Learning to hold the light right and pay attention to what he was doing was lesson one, without even knowing it.

'These are your spark plugs, they use electricity to spark the fuel. They basically.. make your car go. If there's somethin' wrong there, car no go. Got it?'

'Car no go, got it.'

'Atta girl.'

It didn't take long before you were handing him tools when he requested them, holding the nuts and bolts, reaching smaller hands into tight to fit spaces on the engine. He couldn't deny that he was thrilled that you were actually into this. He was proud he had taught you what you knew. It didn't take long before he could step back and watch you repair or replace something. He felt his chest tighten with admiration. Your grease stained hands and arms, the smudges on your face, wearing one of his old, tattered shirts. It made him glow with pride. He'd wrap himself around you, grinning into your neck. 'My lil mechanic, look at you. You're doin' so good, sweetheart.' Which would make you almost combust. You were so eager to learn and please him. He loved that about you, your ability to wiggle and worm your way into his heart and life and make him happy.

It didn't take long for you to be able to blindly hand him a tool while you had your nose stuck in one of his old car magazines. He'd stop and stare, watching your eyes as you read. It made him grin like a madman. He'd nudge your foot with his boot until you glanced up. 'Whatcha readin'? Any good?' And you'd flush slightly, paying attention to the pages again with a small nod.

'You know what I'm reading, you know it's good.'

'Yeah, sure.. but I wanna hear ya say it.'

That always earns an eye roll. 'It's so good, baby. Real riveting stuff.' He'd moan softly, tossing his head back as if he was fucking you.

'Don't care the context, hearin' that always gets me goin'...' you'd scoff and kick his leg. He was always trying to find a way to sprinkle his dirty thoughts in as many casual settings as he could. He loved it. He loved you. He knew it. He told you as often as he could. 'Love ya, girl.'

'Love you, too.. stinky.'

'Hey! Stinky? Who, me?' He'd point at himself, a frown and pinched brow directed at you.

'You smell like a guy who has been stuck in an engine in a hot garage all day... wait, that's what you've been doing.'

'Shut up..'