I feel like reader x the dark would just be tentacle hentai (consensually)
we fucking the fears now????
imagine being the guy who gets turned into a shadow on the wall by the dark meanwhile it’s just devouring ur shit crazy style. i’d be mad as hell!!!!
i mean i would never say never bc honestly the spiral and the hunt are kinda sexy BUT i don’t know how i would approach a full fic for one 🤔 maybe a snippet??? hrm
went in to playing wayhaven completely blind and i had no idea that the characters change based on your mc’s sexuality. when importing my chara to the book 4 demo i chose lesbian since i’ve fully committed to self-flagellating by being in a situationship w ava
i had to go through the tumblr tags to figure out that felix and mason didn’t get off screened and replaced with beautiful women 😭 like who are you people... where did my besties go...
distortion size difference is funny … helen likes picking you up (see: manhandling you) so that she can love bomb give you affection properly. to her, you’re kind of like one of those little chihuahuas people keep in their purses. she’ll dote on you until she sees your demeanor change to something softer, then she’ll plop you down unceremoniously. she’s got so much to do, after all!
michael just likes watching as you struggle to reach his face, grinning big as hell the whole time. he might bend down a bit to tease you, before standing back up to his full height :/ will only indulge in your affections if 1) he’s in the mood and 2) you ask nicely <3 . what a stinker
for wip wednesday. i thought i'd post a few snippets of my many, many magnus wips LOL
prompt: archivist reader attempts to compel elias and fails. leads to a sloppy makeout
"You're rather bad at this." Elias muses, watching curiously as you rub at your temples.
Your head ached something awful, the bright lights in his office seeming to glare at you for even attempting to compel Elias. In hindsight, perhaps it was stupid. But he had been the one who called you into his office, voice dripping with faux pity as he expressed how disappointed he was in your progress as an Archivist. How you couldn’t elect to make your assistants bother with statement givers forever.
And who was he to tell you how to do your job? In the moment, your temper got the better of you, and you tried to compel him to tell you why it even mattered? Why you couldn’t do more research on the more interesting statements?
The look of surprise on his face was almost worth the migraine now. Almost.
"How do you feel?" He asks, like a doctor might ask you after surgery, clinical more than caring.
"Like I've been hit by a bus." You respond, slipping into the seat across his desk. You don't trust your legs to stand. Hardly trust your own mouth to speak. "I've never felt so... exhausted."
"Yes," he states simply, his hands steepled in front of him. "That does tend to happen at first. But you'll get better. Stronger. Just give it time."
You scoff. "And how long did it take you?"
There's a twinkle in his steely gray eyes, so much older than even the creases around his eyes. His answer is a smirk and a dismissive wave of his hand. "Everyone learns on their own time, my dear.” He then tilts his head, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Besides the… exhaustion, what else do you feel?”
prompt: gwen/reader exes that are forced back into each others lives after all the spooky stuff goes down at the oiar. might turn this into an oc fic idk yet!
The morning after Gwen gets hired at the OIAR, she dreams of your death.
It’s an unexplainable, violent thing, and she finds pieces of you scattered around her childhood home. Sentimentality was never allowed inside the walls there, so why did she think she could invite you inside?
She holds your rotten hands until she awakes with a start, alone in her apartment. Gwen throws the sheets off of herself, tearing them off the bed before throwing them into her washing machine. The sound of the machine turning in rhythm with her rabbiting pulse does nothing to quell her nerves.
Gwen presses her palms into her eyelids, breathing deep. She could push this down. Forget it happened. It was just a stupid dream after all. It meant nothing. She would see
And then it happens again, and again.
...
Your apartment was the size of her bedroom back home, and yet she’s never felt more safe than when she’s nestled with you in your full-sized mattress. You’re close enough that even when she’s not touching you, she can feel the warmth you give off; radiating like the sun, and she’s helpless to do anything but bask in you.
And it makes her sick.
How did you so easily unravel everything she held so dear? You pressed your hands inside her and plucked her heart out like it was a ripe fruit. Gentle, always so gentle, but she was still left bare before you. Your hands brush against her cheek, and she leaves her nettles inside you.
She was not allowed to be tender like you were.
But there you are. It’s 5 AM, and you have class in three hours, and you’re ushering her into your apartment.
You make her tea. Gwen watches as you go through the motions of putting the kettle on the stove, and she finds that she can breathe for a moment. You don’t ask her to talk, and she breathes in the scent of your apartment; cinnamon and clove and something else that’s entirely you that still clings to her old clothes. The sentimentality tastes bitter on her tongue.
You go to class. Gwen is not there when you return.
prompt: jon/reader. meant to be a glimpse into the progression of jon and reader's relationship throughout the seasons of tma through windows of tenderness. this snippet is part of the scene i had in mind for season 3, after he gets his hand burnt by jude perry (i support lesbian wrongs!!)
You watch, leaned against the door frame, as Jon attempts to shave with one hand.
Georgie’s bathroom was small, all her skin care products lined up in an orderly row around the sink. He uses his elbow to rinse the excess shaving cream off his fingers, [finish sentence].
“Come here to tease me, have you?” Jon says, side-eyeing you in the mirror. You grin, not able to deny his words.
“Maybe just a little.” You answer, playful. Jon grumbles something unintelligible, holding the razor up to his cheek. “You could always ask for help, you know. I would hate for you to go into work looking like the Admiral scratched up your face.”
“I am… perfectly capable of making myself look presentable.” He assures. “Even with… this.” Jon makes a gesture with his bandaged hand, it tucked against his stomach to keep it from accidentally brushing against something. Even if the burn was so severe he hardly had any feeling left in it, he didn’t want to agitate it when it was still healing.
“I’m not doubting your capability.” You respond, standing behind him in the mirror, running your fingers through his hair. It had grown out long since your first meeting. “I want to help you. Is that a bad thing?”
Jon lets out a sigh, like acquiescing to you now was a Herculean task. Still, he presses the cheap razor into your hand, settling himself on the closed toilet lid before he can overthink this situation. “...Fine. I suppose… it will take less time this way.”
“Thank you.” You say, genuine. Jon just nods, letting you tilt his chin to drag the razor gently down across his cheekbones, ridding him of the stubble there. His cheeks warm under your touch, his eyes closing in relaxation as you continue to shave his face, every so often wetting the razor to clean it out.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so still.” You say, ruining the quiet of the moment. Jon peeks an eye open just to narrow it at you playfully.
“Feels like I’ve been running myself ragged.” He admits, his voice soft and weary. “But it’s still not enough… I still feel like I’m ten steps behind where I need to be.”
You’re quiet for a moment, working on getting the more delicate areas around his lips. His words turn over and over in your head, and you almost find yourself protesting that if he would tell you what’s going on, you would help him. But you know he would just brush you off once again. Whatever it is he was searching for, he didn’t want you involved in it.
Even if you were already tangled in its web.
Jon seems to notice your pained expression, and he rubs his fingers over his bandaged knuckles, as if to soothe. “...For what it’s worth, thank you. For being here, even though I… haven’t been the most forthcoming.”
The razor brushes over his neck, and you can feel him swallow. You have every reason to be angry with him… And yet you can’t find it in yourself to start up an argument right now.
prompt: tim/reader. i had an idea of doing something similar to the previous jon idea but with tim, but i scrapped it lol. still i love this snippet and wanted to share here hehe
The night before the Unknowing, you sit next to Tim in a cheap motel bed.
In the dim lighting, you think he looks younger than he’s looked in a long while. It almost makes you think of when you first met; he was in research when he had scribbled his number in sharpie on your wrist. It had taken weeks for the ink to wash away.
His silence scares you. You sit next to him, your hands balled into the back of his shirt, a silent plea to stay, stay, please stay. Tim lays his forehead on your shoulder and breathes you in. Neither of you can seem to find anything else to say, everything seeming too much and too little all at once.
So you simply sit as the hours pass by, trapping this moment in the amber of your memory. You stain his jacket with silent tears until the morning comes, and Tim pulls you to your feet. His hands are shaking, and still, you say nothing.
prompt: jon/reader, cleaning out jon's worm holes lol. i didn't get very far into this one, and ended up changing the idea a bit and adding it to the jon/reader longer fic i have in the oven. i just thought this was funny LMAO
[Jonathan Sims]: You really don’t have to do that, you know. I’m managing quite fine on my own.
You could hear the text in his voice. Ornery. Like the thought of anyone caring for him was a preposterous notion. Like it made him weak.
[You]: It’s really not that big of a deal. Besides, I took a few nursing classes in college. I don’t mind taking a look at your… worm holes. Heh.
It takes a few minutes for him to respond, the speech bubble appearing and disappearing a few times; like he was warring with himself [finish sentence].
[Jonathan Sims]: My… “worm holes” are fine, thank you very much.
Then, three minutes later:
[Jonathan Sims]: I suppose I can’t stop you if you want to come visit.
A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. You respond to him that you’re on your way, and then pocket your phone.
prompt: my idea was michael/reader that eventually turns into helen/reader... i really like what i have so far but i'm kinda stumped about where to go with it so i haven't updated it in a while
You cannot help but feel aware of how alone you are, the greying lights buzzing like TV static. Eyes half lidded, back and wrists aching from the repetitive movement of office work; the clicking of computer keys or the scratch of your pen echoing off the empty, grey walls of your office building.
You press your palms into your eyes, trying to wake yourself up enough to finish up the last bit of paperwork; just 30 more minutes of overtime and you’d be done. For the day, at least, the cycle would continue the next day, and then the next, on and on until you were old and grey or died buried under reams of paper. Both seemed equally plausible.
Only when your head starts to ache, when the fractals dance at the edge of your vision do you let your hands fall back to your side. You sigh to yourself, the colors slowly fading into the grey of your cubicle walls, the harsh blue light of your computer, the white stack of paperwork that seemed… more substantial than it did moments ago.
And so, you begin work again.
“Still hard at work, are we?”
If you weren’t so tired, you would’ve jolted at the voice. You turn around to see what other poor soul was at the office this late with you.
He’s tall, lanky, with curly golden hair that nearly reaches his waist. He’s smiling at you, expectant, stilted, and you can’t help but squint as you look up at him; like he’s a grainy photograph your eyes can’t adjust to. One of his hands rests on top of the cubicle wall, drumming his fingers against the plastic, the clacking noise almost mimicking the sound of keyboard keys.
Did fingers usually have that many joints? You can’t seem to remember.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” You say, tilting your head. Surely, you would’ve remembered someone who looked as unusual as him around the office. You’ve been at this company long enough to at least know everyone’s face.
The stranger laughs, and you wince. His voice sounds like it’s coming through an old 90s speaker – static crackling at the edges of the sound.
“Don’t you know me? I’ve worked with you for a very long time.” Its smile widens.
“Ah, of course.” You lie, smoothly. He must be right, surely you’re just too tired. If you look long enough, you think you recognize some of his features – perhaps you had seen him around. You rub at your eyes once more. “Your name is just slipping my mind…” You quickly introduce yourself, hoping you haven’t offended him somehow.
“Names are overrated. But if you so wish, you may call me Michael.” The name sounds foreign coming from his lips. “Are you planning on working a while longer?”
“Unfortunately.” You turn back to your stack of papers, which seems… just as thick as it had an hour ago. An hour ago? Has time really moved so quickly? All you want to do is sleep. “I just have a little more paperwork to finish up, then I’ll go home.”
Michael doesn’t answer, seeming a little too gleeful at your confusion. “I see. Well, I suppose I shall let you get back to your work then. I would hate to keep you.”
“Yes, thank you. It was… nice talking with you.” You answer, courteously. “I guess I’ll see you around?”
Michael’s smile somehow widens, sharp, with much too many teeth. “Yes, you shall.”
other honorable wips: slaughter avatar reader trying to hide their wounds from tim/martin (a request), cuddling with the horrors (this one is sillay), all of my peony/helen stuff <3
Since we're being horny up in here: I want Michael and Helen to rail me at the same time. No thoughts, head empty, every orifice full 🥰
a threesome w the distortions would be helen doing all the work while michael giggles from the corner (fully clothed) and occasionally tells you a fun riddle.
but yeah it’ll def be the time of your life! your mind can’t even process all the sensations happening but you’ll feel better than you’ve ever felt before <3 minus the internal bleeding . and the external bleeding
No your inbox is the confessional for horny Helen distortion fans ❤️
oh well in that case! helen distortion fans im rolling out the red carpet for you forever!
to me she is the character of all time. yes she has less than an hour of content in a 200 episode podcast. but my mind is a machine that turns irrelevant side character into 15+ unfinished wips in my google docs
