#ooc: kinda lol

[askchilchuck]

You have been chosen. They are coming soon.

What…? Who’s coming? What does that mean? Wait, come back!

[bittasol]

smile, iruma! | hey ive been here before

[soundleer]

lightweight 🍻

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bonus panels:

[jevin gets sober next morning and he is now extremely embarrassed]

[he never drank again after this incident. tunner couldn't help but adore that side of him]

[caprart1]

Not my favorite drawing but they're so crazzzzzzzy!! Love them

[arinmoss]

Isabella (she/her) ^_^

[ohgreat-moretapes]

Hey, you're the one who asked. Why the fuck would we lie to you? We aren't crazy. And quite honestly, I don't think you are entirely either. Shit happened to you and then you blocked it out. Is it so crazy to believe that someone from your past is back? Sure the eldritch part is wild, but dude, shit is fucking happening and the hooded man who hacked your account is speaking in codes for half of it.

Maybe trust in the people who were fully conscious when you ran into the woods with a mask on.

Listen, I'm trying really hard not to get locked up again here. I'll figure it out and I'm sure there's a logical, grounded-in-reality explanation for everything...

You're wigging me out talking like that...

-Tim

[x-reader-things]

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Ekko x gn!reader [could be read as either romantic or platonic]

Summary ; In which you and Ekko help each other find your spark of creating again.

Requested? ; No. Self indulgent.

Warnings ; hurt / comfort, grief, a hint of survivors guilt but mostly just guilt in general, loss of a friend [unnamed uncanon character], not exactly a warning but hair is mentioned w / no specific hair type described.

Word count ; 2.3 k words

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You stare at the mural in front of you.

Tall and daunting. The tree grew around it like a shield, and the portraits were protected by the home built above in the branches.

Rain pattered on the ground. It had begun to soak through your clothes, dotted cold and unwelcoming on your cheeks. Slid off your head and yet caught into your hair at the same time. You were lucky it wasn’t pouring.

It smelled. A mix of petrichor and something putrid. No doubt from the smog that always left the sky over Zaun grey, and never clear enough for the sun to fully peak through. Such is the usual, for the undercity.

None of that mattered, though.

You were tasked - well, you took it upon yourself - to paint a portrait of another fallen Firelight. You were an artist like most of them were. You painted in your downtime for a while, up until recently.

The past year hadn’t been kind to you. Even with the Firelights being there, existing as a home. As a beacon of hope. For change. It wasn’t enough to fan the flames of the dimmed spark of creativity, that you longed to feel once again.

One failed mission after the next. An injury in your leg that had you benched for weeks. Chembarons were getting reckless, and enforcers were relentless - you feared when the other shoe would drop, when shit would hit the fan.

And then, the recent loss.

A close friend of yours.

The guilt was impudent. Almost impertinent. It seared into your bones like an angry flame that simmered and waited. Stars, you hated it so much. It never went away, no matter how much you tried to distract yourself by throwing yourself headfirst into work.

You took up more tasks despite the stinging twinge in your leg. You did more chores under the guise of letting fellow firelights take a break. Some meaningless and small, others bigger and more meaningful. Busying your mind so you didn’t have time to think too much.

And you took this task, especially, because you thought you could handle it.

You thought this would knock you out of your stupor, let you create again, out of respect for your fallen friend. Give yourself an outlet to let things be, let your mind be content, albeit in a melancholy way.

But the moment you stared into the blank space you were given to work with, all you could do was freeze.

One wrong move, and you’d fuck it up for good. One wrong stroke of a brush and a spray can would mess up the image of that friend.

And starting would ruin the blank space even more. It’d have marred the image you had in your mind, the one you needed to begin soon, lest you get sick from the rain. You didn’t want to mess it up.

You didn’t want to fuck it up.

You didn’t want to ruin the image of your friend.

The friend who you lost because the phantom pain in your leg grew too much to the point where it screwed up your footing on your hoverboard, made you swerve around an incoming bomb being thrown by a blue haired woman working for Silco, made you knock into your friend who lost their own balance and fell with a mind shattering scream, and then—

“Still haven’t started yet?”

Light thunder crackled in the distance, the rumbling amplified by your hyper vigilance.

Startled, you took in a sharp breath, and instantly turned to where you heard the voice from. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath in. Your lungs were grateful for the intake of air.

On the wooden balcony below you, you caught sight of the main firelight leader. Ekko.

Arms crossed, eyes tired, head tilted in the usual way he did while regarding something he needed to comprehend. The twisted locks of his hair moved with his head, vibrant against the greyed out colors surrounding you both. Usually, the grounds and the walls surrounding the firelight hideout were more colorful. Today, the rain made it more somber.

“I…”, you tried to form a viable excuse. Whatever your words were caught on the tip of your tongue, and refused to make themselves known. Your eyes flitted back to the blank part of the mural, and back to Ekko.

You wondered if he’d understand.

“I. Can’t.”

Your words were stilted. Hesitant. They cut through the rain like a knife. Unsettled in the air.

Ekko straightened up ever so slightly. He dipped his head the slightest bit lower, with a blink and a raise of his brows. His dark brown eyes urged you to continue.

“I-I can’t—“, you repeated, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Your thoughts were buzzing in your mind and you couldn’t stop the words from flowing in time. They tumbled out in a jumble you swore on you could comprehend, and your arms gesticulated as you paced on the creaking wood below your feet.

“—every time I try, I just. Can’t. And I need to do this, I have to. I promised I would. And I can’t stop thinking about what happened but I need that to stop, I have to do this because they’re my friend and I can’t fuck this up, I can’t ruin the image of them. And I can’t fucking—“

You kicked a paint can at your feet. It soured over the ground below you, and felt to the grass well below the balconies.

“—bring myself to pick up a single one of these paint cans.”

Ekko’s eyes followed the paint can while it fell. It hit the dirt below, and the distant thump was drowned out by the rain. He clicked his tongue, and sighed with a shake of his head.

You were angry. You were grieving. It’s not like he could tell you to stop, nor would he ever. Any and every Firelight knew what it was like. Seeing you like this, though - abound with ideas, but with no spark, no drive anymore…

It reminded him too much of himself.

He was a leader. The leader of the Firelights. He focused his time on making their hideout a home. Bit by bit, he picked up the broken pieces of Zaun. Did his best to, at the very least. The chembarons, Silco and Shimmer proved difficult, along with Piltover.

With all that work, and all that responsibility, it left him restless. Left him exhausted. Even with the help of Scar, his second hand man, and many others within the community he created, it still weighed him down. Every time he opened that journal of his, without the need of making a blueprint for a new gadget to create, without the need for a map for a plan, the pages were blank.

When he tried, those pages were ripped. Those pages were full of jagged lines, or crinkled up and tossed to some corner of his messy room. He’d stare at those pages for hours, head in his hands, and wonder where the hell his spark went.

When did he lose it?

How?

Ekko took a few steps forward, and pulled himself up to the platform above. With a grunt, he heaved over the wooden railing as carefully as he could. The rain made everything they stood on wet, and prone to slip on. When he stood up, and dusted his hands off, he got a clear look at you.

You forced out a sound, a mix between a scoff and a wry laugh. Ran a hand over your head, and pushed water droplets flat onto your hair. Tore your eyes away from where the paint can used to be, and back to the mural. “Been stuck for months. And the one damn time I need to create, for them—“

You sharply gestured your arm out to the blank spot - an eerie crème colored sight compared to the rest of the wall, save for a few cracks - and your voice trembled. Water droplets fell from your hand as it flicked away from the top of your head.

“Hey—”, Ekko reached a hand out, and rested it against the opposite arm that stayed at your side. He grasped your elbow, and gave it a gentle tug. It tore your attention away from the wall, and back onto him. His voice was calm, almost somber. “— C’mon.”

He took in a breath, and his other hand made a breathe-in motion. You followed in suit, the smell of petrichor invading your nose, air filling your lungs. The tension in your shoulders went tighter.

After a few seconds, Ekko slowly breathed out. You followed him, and the tightness in your muscles faded ever so slightly.

Once Ekko was sure you were calm enough, he scoffed out a small breath, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a wry sort of smile. It was small, but it was there.

“I… get what you mean”, he started. His voice was in a softer tone. One you didn’t hear as often, compared to his ‘Leader Voice’. It blended into the ambient noise of the rain, yet it was perfectly clear for you. Never broke the calm like the thunder did.

“When I got good enough, I started this—” Ekko looked at the wall behind you, an old ache settling into the small pinch between his brows. “—the mural. Thought that since i the skills, I could put this up. Thought that I could make something good, make something to remember them by, for...”

He sighed through his nose. You followed his gaze, and landed on the portraits you’ve known for years. Six portraits. The oldest ones. The same style, the same paint, the same process.

All were Ekko’s. The people he knew, before the Firelights had become The Firelights. Before he had to grow up as quick as he did.

“… your family?”, you asked tentatively, to complete the sentence for him. Ekko hummed in acknowledgment, and the smallest hint of a smile grew on his face.

“Yeah. My family.”, another sigh, and his shoulders dropped when he looked up at the rest of the mural. “Back then I created so much. Started this tradition, whenever we lost someone. Helped to create so many things for us. For the Firelights. A lot like you did, when you first started here, y’know? But now—”

Your eyes met again.

“—you can’t even look at a blank page anymore.”, you finished. He gently squeezed your elbow, and your hand had instinctively found its way to rest against his forearm.

“You get it”, he nods. “So…”

He let go of your arm to lean down and grab a paint can. Your hand lingered against the arm of his jacket, the outside of it already littered with dark spots from the rain. When Ekko stood up, he shook the spray can at his side. The mix bearing hit against tin of the can, and mixed the paint up enough to be properly used. After that, he took your hand off of his arm, and turned it so that your palm was facing up. He placed the paint can into your hand.

“—Let’s just… Take things slow. See how things go from there, alright?”

The cool metal of the can soaked into the skin of your hand. Your fingers curled over it, and tightened their grip.

“I don’t want to fuck this up.”, you whispered.

The very thought of starting the portrait you dreaded to creeped up from the back of your mind. The cold seeped back into your spine. You wouldn’t say it out loud but it terrified you to the very depths of your being.

“You won’t.” Ekko’s voice broke through the anxious haze that began to cloud your head again. His hand remained on the other side of the paint can in your hand. A promise that he wouldn’t leave you alone. “I got you. Besides—“

He gestured to your leg. A reference to the injury. “—standing up here alone for hours at a time won’t be good for that leg of yours. Figured you need someone to help when you need to rest it.”

You gave him a weak smile. A small thank you for the thought. He wasn’t wrong. Standing for that long would hurt. However…

“It’s gonna make it real, Ekko.”, the tremor in your voice returned. Warmth stung behind your eyes. Warm tears, against the cold air. “Losing them.”

The tremor in your voice this time had finally broken it into pieces.

“I know.”, Ekko murmured. He definitely knew. “It’s gonna hurt for a long time. But this—“

He waved his hand towards the mural. “—is the first step to healing. I’m gonna be right there with you.”

You nodded, and wiped a stray tear that fell from the corner of your eye.

“Alright.”

Ekko moved his hand away from the can, and you walked forward. You stepped on the creaking wood of the step stool in front of the mural. The intimidating blank stretch of the concrete felt way larger than it appeared. But when you took a deep breath, and caught the encouraging nod of Ekko when he went to your side a little ways away, the tension fell away.

The rain pattered calmly behind you.

The cold didn’t sting as deep. Neither did the guilt.

You shook the can at your side again, and raised it up to the wall. You sniffed once, and exhaled a shaky breath.

One spray after another.

One shape formed into an ear. Another, a nose. Soon the eyes.

And soon, a face. A little extra help from Ekko turned that face into a person. Your friend.

Nothing was marred, nothing was ruined.

And for once, the world seemed a little less cruel.

[gaywarcriminals]

hear me out, Shen Qingqiu(jiu) and Yue Qingyuan are visibly pining for each other, everyone knows--except Shen qingqiu-- that Yue qingyuan has a boycrush on Shen Qingqiu, and everyone thinks Shen Qingqiu HATES Yue Qingyuan.

But secretly behind the covers they have this situation ship going on where they're kissing and fucking but they're not exactly dating, since Shen Qingqiu still believes Yue Qingyuan abandoned him and doesn't want him, and Yue Qingyuan still hasn't explained himself. They're basically co-workers with benefits.

Who do you think would be the first Peak Lord to find out they've been getting intimate? and how would they react.

This too is yuri

Both of qijiu have a tendency to assume they're more invested than the other party (SJ is resentful about this, and YQY is morosely resigned), and this makes their half-reconciled sex life soooo messy. 

I think there's a couple times where they come out of YQY's office with slightly rumpled robes and a couple meters of QDP notice, but they knew well-enough to keep their mouths shut. As for who discovers them first, there's two branching options: was it an accident, or was someone being nosy? Of the Peak Lords, I'd sort LQG and MQF into accident, QQQ and SQH into nosy, with WQW falling somewhere in the middle (I don't think he's a gossip but I do think he finds qijiu's weird rituals funny).

My pick for this scenario is SQH because he's trying to figure out wtf happened to the plot. This is essential information, his life is on the line here! Anyways he's eavesdropping on what he thinks is qijiu fighting in the PL meeting room, peeks and sees qijiu having freaknasty sex (on the main table! Where everybody has to work!!!), and accidentally shrieks. SJ threatens him, YQY tries to keep the peace while also slipping in some pointed comments about how Shang-shidi better respect Qingqiu's privacy and dignity, and SQH eventually weasels out of it by some combination of insisting he saw nothing, and YQY "distracting" SJ. After some deliberation he gifts them sex toys: a strange as this plot diversion is, he'd rather the scum villain be taking out his anger on YQY than the protagonist! 

[askchilchuck]

Hi :) I heard you're a union man :) you should join our union :) we're welcome to all participants under the glorious work of our saviour :) you are safe :) you will be safe :) you will not be sacrificed :) you can trust us :) join our union :) :) :)

Absolutely NOT. Get out of here right now before I call the guards! No one go with this guy!

[misteria247]

Okay imagine time since I tormented I mean shared this with some Discord pals teehee.

For this I'm thinking wayy into the future and it's definitely taken on my religion of Pacifica and Fiddleford friendship/mentorship/adopted parent and child because God damnit they deserve the best and it's my blog I do what I want lmao. Okay picture this-

Paz is a bit older. Her and Fiddleford have their father daughter thing. Tate's like an older brother, she's got Dipper (who's she seeing) and Mabel, as her friends. And because she's around people like them, Ford and Stan are essentially like Gruncles to her too. Basically, she's got the whole family thing. One day, her Dipper and Mabel find some tape measuring time machine, and boom Pacifica is sent back to the 80s, where she meets Fidds. But here's the kicker.

It's Fidds pre memory gun.

So he's not completely lost it. Paz unable to really say anything about the future just introduces herself as Paz and vaguely explains how she's stranded in the past. She doesn't say much more on it and Fidds along with Ford agree to help her and it's during this that she sees how her father figure was like. And she sees how happy he was and he's always talking about Tate and he's not weighed down by the horrors of Bill. And it makes Pacifica come to this internal struggle on whether she should warn them about the future or if she should keep quiet about it. Like Paz knows it's risky but she loves these two men and Stan and Dipper and Mabel and Tate and everyone else. She wants them to be happy and not suffer. But also if she does this that means she would possibly lose everything.

She'd lose her dad and brother, she'd lose her boyfriend and her closest friends. She'd lose Ford and Stan which she's begun to see as her own uncles. She'd lose her family if she does this. But Paz can't find any real cons, because she sees herself extendable because of her upbringing. Not realizing that if these people were there they'd fight tooth and nail to stop her because to them she's not worth the risk of possible happiness in the past. And Fidds in all of this he's suspicious of Paz, because she does machinery in a way that only he personally does and he's catching on that this teen might be someone important to him and Ford in the future. Even briefly entertained that she's his and Emma May's second child before shutting it down because she doesn't look anything like them. But everything she does, everything she says, just screams Mcgucket.

Meanwhile, while Paz and Past Fidds are going through a crisis, the present family is desperately trying to get her back. Unaware that their current time they're living could end with just a few short words from Paz. The entire situation is a dire one, especially when a certain triangle is more than willing to do whatever it takes to make his plans happen. And Pacifica is more than willing to do something drastic to protect the family she's somehow gained through the years.

[blueteller]

Fans around me about TCF Part 2 be like:

...Anyway, I'm honestly loving Part 2. To anyone wondering if it's worth reading: yes. Absolutely!

[voot-floop]

Vox hatsune miku okay……..

[storfulsten]

damn.

damn again.

-

original

[yerproblematicfav]

Hello Tumblers and Baddie Fumblers, this is my first attempt at a promo post so please be gentle. 😊

Hazbin Hotel is my current hyperfixation so I figured I'd try and break into the role play scene on this site. 🤗

For obvious reasons, be 21+ ONLY. Mun is 25+ themselves. MINORS DNI. 🤬

Other than being of the legal age to consume alcohol in the United States, my ideal writing partner would be someone who enjoys writing dark and/or dead dove subjects. And although it isn't an absolute necessity to write with me, I do find that when the plot is vanilla for too long I tend to get bored and lose interest. I crave drama. 🔥

I'm happy to write any type of relationship between our characters, be that familial, friends, romantic, enemies, etc. if you can dream it, we can write it. 🌈

I do enjoy writing ERP, but we don’t have to include that if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m also always more than willing to do a ‘fade to black,’ moment. 😌

As far as ships go, I am willing to write just about any MxM ship. TW: I am what you'd consider a comshipper or proshipper myself, because I do ship AngelNiss and ValAngel, but I also ship the normal stuff like Huskerdust. I understand that most people find those types of ships repulsive, so I will always use the appropriate tags when posting content of them so that you can block the tags. If that’s a deal breaker for you then I am very sorry, but I can’t stop being me, babes. 🤷‍♀️

I actually enjoy writing some of the more taboo and weird stuff including dead dove topics such as: incest, mpreg, age gaps, gender swaps, futas, dubcon, noncon, and so on and so forth. So if you want to rp something but you’re afraid of it coming off as strange, please don’t be afraid to reach out. The worst I can say is no, right? ✨

I tend to write multiple paragraphs per reply and in the third person style but I don't mind matching my partner's style instead. 📝

If you’re interested in writing with me, drop a like or DM me and let’s start hitching some kind of plot together! 💙

[birdricks]

uncomfortably me

[dailyashleighraichu]

Just for funsies, I took @quins-makeshift-menagerie's Mew and Mewtwo bases to make Ash and Dew into them! I thought it'd be interesting to just color them with their normal colors, so that's why I went with it :>

Just a fun lil thingy in between stuff!