u got any headcanons for our beloved mr. ringle a dingle?????
ohoho, so very many!!! here you go anon, have a selection of lore-heavy headcanons (largely focused on Lux) 😉
Mr. Ring-A-Ding | Lux Imperator general headcanons 🎥☀️
🎥 Lux is capable of possessing any form which has ever been projected via light (cartoons, live action recordings, even letters and symbols), but he chose Mr. Ring-A-Ding because he personally loves the original cartoon. as the God of Light, Lux has had all of eternity to see every which way that light has been used to amuse the strange little flesh-creatures popping up throughout the universe. so the idea that he became incredibly attached to this 1930s-era Fleischer knockoff and decided "that's me!" is unendingly funny to me 😂
🎥 incredibly, Lux is actually the oldest member of the Pantheon of Discord, being formed at the moment of Event One/The Big Bang!! to try and track Lux's historical origins is to be a cosmologist: for as long as the stars have burnt, he has been present, though without form and conscience. i feel like Lux is also what we'd think of as the most 'inhuman' member of the Pantheon, because his understanding of personality and morality are very far removed from ours. the Toymaker, Maestro and Sutekh all understand their own capacity for cruelty and how it impacts lesser life forms, but Lux can't understand why someone wouldn't want to be trapped in film and to live forever. to him, we're not much more than insects 😳
🎥 that being said, Lux has taken a real shine to humanity in much the same way the Toymaker did: because of our capacity for entertainment. there are a billion species he could torment with his godly powers, but Lux chose Earth because he feels we make the best 'use' of his light...and anything we make, he is. he has watched us from afar for millennia, but it was only when the Doctor cast salt at the edge of the universe that Lux finally had an excuse to beam down and, ahem, get the film rolling 😉
If you're still taking writing requests, could you do possessive Wally headcanons?
*cracks knuckles* oh anon, i most certainly can 😈 yandere!Wally fans (me too 😳), this one's for you! (this is less headcanons and more a oneshot... kinda wanna write the whole thing 🙈)
content warnings for possessive behaviour, manipulation, threats, arson, entrapment and kidnapping!
Possessive/Yandere!Wally Darling x Reader headcanons
👁 it all started so well. Wally was a Darling both in name and behaviour, and you fell hard and fast. such an attentive sweetheart, from the moment you moved into the neighbourhood it was as if he were always at your side. anywhere else, you may have been unnerved, but Wally's simple warmth and easy smile dispelled all of your doubts. while you tried to spread your time equally between your kind new neighbours, you somehow always found yourself in Wally's presence, talking to him for hours.
👁 in time, you found yourself becoming bolder. you start returning Wally's curious glances, and soon allow your eyes to linger a touch longer than they should. curiously (and with a little bit of a thrill), you notice that Wally seems incapable of breaking eye contact - no matter how long you stare, he'll always stare right back, unperturbed.
👁 one day, you find yourself closer to Wally than usual. you're half-pressed against one another on your sofa, Wally's cheek nestled in the crook of your shoulder. he's drawing something in his sketchbook: an indistinct, wobbly shape that you can't make heads or tails of. while Wally's right hand scribbles furiously with his pencil, the fingers of his unoccupied left hand spill at your side, reflexively clenching every now and again with the automatic motions of his drawing.
👁 the closeness imbues you with a newfound confidence. you take a breath, steady yourself...and reach across, brushing your fingers lightly across Wally's own. Wally's eyes snap towards you. for a moment, his pupils blow so wide you think they might just swallow you.
👁 the next day, your house catches fire. such an incident is unheard of in this neighbourhood, and all your neighbours are horrified for you. however, Wally is strangely calm. "I'm sorry you lost so much," he says, still smiling. "Would you like to live with me?"
👁 you're shaken - but accept Wally's offer. the shock of the fire takes a few days to wear off, but nothing could be more unsettling than living in close quarters with Wally Darling. existing within the living, breathing (creaking? squeaking) walls of his Home has an atypical effect on the puppet. Wally's voice is lower, and he moves with more purpose, as if he and Home are one and the same: symbiotic entities which exist in tandem with one another.
👁 to add to your creeping sense of dread, Wally flips the script on your personal space. now he is the one letting his fingers slip easily around your waist, and fixing you with uncomfortable, impossible-to-ignore stares. you try to laugh off his behaviour, questioning him openly if he enjoys having you as a guest so much. for once, Wally doesn't smile when he replies, "I love you living with me."
👁 it isn't until a week has passed that you learn all the doors are locked, and Wally never gave you a key. you try wrestling with the door handle, but it doesn't budge. then you try the windows, but they're sealed shut. 'I'm not trapped!' you think to yourself. 'Wally is just being a good neighbour - he wants to keep me safe.' but that still doesn't stop you from panicking, scouring the house for the heaviest thing you can find and trying to smash the window. the glass does not break. Home suddenly groans with the sound of a thousand old floorboards and overloaded pipes - a dreadful, ear-rending noise - causing the glass in the window to triple in height and thickness right before your eyes.
👁 terrified, you scramble backwards to run out of the kitchen - only to run smack into Wally. you collapse to the floor and gaze up at Wally, standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, that cat's smile of his holds some private amusement.
👁 "did you try to leave Home?" Wally asks. "Silly, silly." he takes a step towards you, and then another - slow and loping steps, his cute puppet form now moving in a way equal parts unnatural and sinister. he crouches next to you, those eyes now whirlpools of void which obscure all but the slight white rim of his scleras. "Try again," Wally whispers. "I'd like that very much."
how would wally react to a neighbor who uses ASL (sign language) to talk?
i love your head canons!
thank you very much!!! you're so kind :3c
ooooh this is a wonderful idea, thank you for sending it in!! just to let you know - i'm British (unfortunately), and my personal experience of sign language is influenced by BSL, so i've tried to make this widely applicable for anyone who may use sign language. i hope you don't mind! 🥰
Wally Darling x Reader Who Uses Sign Language headcanons
⭐ Wally is versed in several types of sign language, as well as Makaton and lip-reading. as a neighbourly fellow who is ever-curious about the lovely people who stumble into his life, Wally realised early on that communication via voiced speech alone wasn't inclusive, practical, or possible for some of his friends. in fact, Wally first began learning sign language to communicate with Julie, who has a tendency to become nonverbal when overwhelmed. soon, Wally and the rest of the neighbourhood realised the enormous benefits of being versed in sign language, and began hosting impromptu classes to practice their signing. everyone in the neighbourhood is able to communicate well through sign language, but Wally is undoubtedly the most fluent!
⭐ when Wally first meets you, he is adorably excited by the way you talk. although he loves talking to his friends through sign, Wally finds conversations with you incredibly stimulating. you're interesting, and funny, and know just what to sign to make him break out into peals of his odd, halting laughter. indeed, Wally talks much faster via sign than he does through verbal speech. he often gets swept up in the act of signing; sometimes, you'll need to grab hold of his hands to get him to slow down, as he signs too fast in his excitement!
⭐ Wally is fascinated by the visuals of you signing. as we know, Wally eats with his eyes, but the things he visually devours are not limited to food. early into your friendship, Wally shyly requests that you ramble to him in sign so he can become more accustomed to your unique movements and sign-related dialect. you're happy to do so, but after a few minutes of talking to Wally, you realise his eyes have grown large: akin to an owl's eyes, absorbing all light like a black hole. you gesture to Wally to snap him out of his trance, and it takes a few blinks for his pupils to return to their normal size. he giggles, and apologises, signing: "Sorry! You speak beautifully. I was hungry." for the rest of the day, you press Wally to elaborate on what he means, but he just gives you a coy look and a shake of his head.
awww i loved writing this one, thanks so much @xo-destiny!! we need more sign language headcanons in the world, and discussion of disability and non-voiced ways of communication too. hope you like this 🥰💖
Are you gonna give us that Jack Frost/Reader we know you wanna write?? 😆
oh god yes yes YES PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO 😳💖 there is an absolutely tragic lack of x Reader fanworks for this man, which is devastating given how much he craves attention...i think he needs a little love to warm him right up 😉
Jack Frost x Reader headcanons 💙❄️
❄️ when You first meet Jack, he flatters You like you're the only person in the world who matters. he presses earnest kisses to the backs of your palms and showers You with compliments. you're taken in by his glittering smile, and the ease with which Jack makes You feel ever so special. but with time, You notice Jack's long game. there's a shallow affect behind those attentive eyes which clues You in; he's not only always watching You for any glimmer of approval, but watching everyone else too, all of the time. every phrase is perfectly engineered to give him the response he wants, and what he wants is attention. so, You decide to turn the tables on him. You make it your life's goal to make Jack Frost melt.
❄️ when You confront Jack on his scheming behaviour, his persona cracks like ice. his smile drops instantly and he takes on a mocking, scathing tone. "You think you've figured it all out?" he scoffs. "Please. Your gullibility would give the April Fool a field day. Why don't you scootle along now, before you get yourself hurt?" but You see it: the hurt flickering behind those frost-blue eyes. You step closer to him, and don't miss the way he flinches. "Aren't you tired of all this, Jack?" You ask quietly. "Always calculating. Always trying to get on top. You're trying so hard to make people like you...you can't see it when they actually do." Jack's hands are ice-cold when You slip your fingers through his own. he blusters in protest, tripping over his words as he tries to formulate a witty retort...but a light dusting of pink blooms along his cheekbones.
❄️ sincere affection is a foreign notion to Jack, and he skitters around it like a deer on a frozen lake. years of hypervigilance and rejection have him distrustful of your motivations, even when You speak your mind. "Surely this is some elaborate trick," Jack tells You once afternoon, when the pair of you are bundled up together under one ultra-long, snowflake-patterned scarf. "I'm still waiting for the big reveal, and I'm sure it'll be a showstopper." yet you're used to the pitfalls of Jack's paranoid mind, and You ask him, "What if the big reveal is that I think you look really cute when you're flustered?" without waiting for an answer, You capture his lips in a kiss. Jack is immediately reactive and whines softly into you, but You slide your arms over his shoulders and lock your fingers behind his back: reassuring him. keeping him safe. telling him it's okay to be vulnerable here.
❄️ nothing could have prepared you for what Jack's real love looks like. remarkably, Jack is restrained when he's being insincere: the actual depths of adoration he has for You are astonishing. he's physically clingy: always having a hand rest on your shoulder, or brushing his thigh against yours under the table. when you're alone he loves to envelop You, whether that's by drawing You in for an impromptu hug or falling asleep cuddling You like you're a teddy bear. his kisses (frequent and soft) leave small trails of ice crystals along your bare skin, and he always grins when You shiver. "Oh dear, are you cold, darling?" Jack asks with a wink. "It would appear my efforts to warm you up have been in vain. However...there's no harm if I keep trying, is there~?"
❄️ although he's freezing cold in the extremities, Jack isn't frozen all the way through. a gentle warmth exudes from Jack's chest, and You often spend your evenings intertwined with your head resting there, listening to the curious flutter of his trapped, searing heart. You murmur gentle words of affirmation into his neck, and delight in how he keens beneath You. when You look up at him, You adore the way his eyes sparkle. Jack is beautiful in the way only a snowflake can be: wholly unique, with hidden complexities even a lifetime wouldn't allow You to observe. Jack is wonderful. and Jack is yours.
You're a brand new resident in the wonderful Welcome Home Neighbourhood, and it's the perfect day for the picnic! But your dear friend Wally Darling doesn't seem to be enjoying the fun. What will happen when you decide to try and cheer him up?
content warnings for: eye imagery, scopophobia, hypnosis, impossible physics, Eldritch, and unreality. go in assuming that Wally is a weird little guy, and you’re both terrified of and kind of enjoy that fact! 😉 you can also find this fic on my AO3. i hope you enjoy!!
The day you learn how to love Wally Darling begins like any other.
It is a balmy day, the air soft and thick and dizzy with butterflies. The sun shines with relentless cheer, and nary a cloud can be seen in the sky. Such a day in the Neighbourhood cannot be spent languishing inside, and all your new neighbours think the same way. So, which lovely activity did they decide upon? Why, a picnic on the grass, of course!
The organisation of the event is efficient and cheerful. In no time, the lush meadow surrounding the outskirts of the Neighbourhood is replete with cosy blankets to lie on, fun games to play, and a plethora of delicious foods contributed by each neighbour. Luckily, you’d baked a whole tray of cupcakes the previous day, with the intent of handing them out when bumping into your neighbours going about their daily business. The cupcakes were a huge success; even the ever-curmudgeonly Frank, who always has something to complain about, graces you with a begrudging, “It’s good, I suppose,” when you hand him a vanilla cupcake topped with a green-icing butterfly.
'I needed this,’ you think as you look around at your new friends. You’ve only been a resident of the Neighbourhood for a few months, but in that time you’ve grown so close to its colourful cast of neighbours as if you’d known each other your whole lives. Right now, they’re dotted across the meadow, smiling and laughing without a care in the world: Howdy’s busy putting together an impossibly long string of daisy chains; Eddie and Sally peer into an origami fortune-teller and giggle at the results; Frank leans over a bush, studying a caterpillar, and Julie and Poppy clap and cheer whilst Barnaby entertains them with a juggling act.
It’s a gorgeous scene. Today, your heart is warm.
A small flash of yellow catches your eye. Of course, it’s an incomplete picture. You take in Wally, who sits cross-legged under the shade of a verdant apple tree. He’s holding an apple between both hands and staring at it intently, as if willing the fruit to communicate with him. It’s an odd expression - you aren’t used to seeing Wally in a state of concentration.
“Hey, Wally!” you call.
Wally looks up at you and smiles. He beckons you over.
“Hello,” says Wally, in his simple way. “I’m happy to see you.”
Oh, what a beautiful voice. Every time you hear Wally speak, it’s like the gentle lapping of his syllables sweep away your worries in a single wave.
As you get closer to Wally, you notice a few strands of his deep blue hair turning flyaway and giving in to the heat, curling away from the otherwise-immaculate pompadour and escaping the death-grip of his hairspray. He’s a little dishevelled elsewhere, too; Wally’s neckerchief is coming loose, and though he’s long since abandoned his cardigan, a stray button on his shirt remains stubbornly popped. You find yourself grinning. Wally takes such pride in his appearance that you never get to see him a little less than perfect.
“Same to you!” you say. “Aren’t you hungry? All the food’s down with the others.”
That unusually pensive look on Wally’s face deepens. He turns his eyes back to his apple. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” You rummage in your backpack and pull out a chocolate bar. “You’ve got to eat, bud. You not feeling so good?”
Wally takes the treat from you and examines it for a moment, as if the bar is a scientific curiosity. “That’s very nice of you…but this doesn’t work for me. You should keep it.”
When Wally hands the bar back, your fingers touch for the briefest moment, and a shiver works its way up your spine.
You don’t know when this… thing you have for Wally Darling began. Despite the countless nights you’ve spent desperately trying to focus on something, anything else, your thoughts inevitably return to the little yellow puppet-man and his catlike smile. There’s a strange magnetism to Wally which befits his profession as a television host; everything from the delicate way he handles his paintbrush, to his ridiculous affinity for apples, leaves you with a little more fondness than before. Wally has so much affection stored in one small body, and when you first met, you wondered how any person could love so much all at once.
But now, when you look at Wally, you understand.
“If you’re sure.” You pop the bar back into your bag and sit on the ground in front of Wally, mirroring his cross-legged pose. “The offer’s still there.”
“It’s tempting,” says Wally, now turning his apple over and over in his hands. “I’d like to know what would happen, if I tried. But Barnaby told me it isn’t worth the risk. I trust him to know.”
You have no idea what he’s talking about, but the look on Wally’s face is so uncharacteristically brooding that you don’t feel it’s polite to pry. Wally’s always been the drifting sort: those large, dewy eyes of his are perpetually lidded, and always seem to be gazing at something no one else can see. But Wally’s inattentiveness is usually matched with an infectious, excited kind of energy, bursting with nonsense and love.
Today, he almost looks sad. The idea makes you feel sick.
It occurs to you that this may be a personal issue, and Wally doesn’t know you well enough to discuss it. So you ask, “Do you want me to look away?”
Wally’s fingers still. To your surprise, the apple actually drops from his hands and rolls into the grass. You’ve never seen Wally mistreat an apple before - there must be something seriously wrong.
“Actually,” says Wally, now looking at you properly, “I’d like to try something.”
He gestures for you to shuffle closer. When you do, Wally reaches forward and takes hold of your forearms. You make a surprised noise, but Wally squeezes you, and fixes you with a smile full of reassurance and warmth. A rush of heat leaps into your cheeks, and you’re suddenly reminded of an interaction you had with another neighbour not too long ago.
It was only a week after you arrived in the Neighbourhood, and you were finally moving the last of your belongings into your home. All of your new neighbours had graciously donated their time to help you in some fashion, and you were overcome with gratitude. On that final day you were more than capable of doing the rest of the moving yourself, but your closest neighbour - the excitable Julie Joyful - volunteered to help with the last handful of delicate items. At first, you were unsure - Julie is a lovely girl and incredibly fun to be around, but so spirited that you feared for the safety of your items. But a good twenty minutes of allowing her to help with the least fragile of your boxes allayed all your fears: Julie moves with the grace of a ballerina, and the two of you soon had all your boxes stacked in your living room.
Burnt orange sunlight poured through the window, streaming soon-to-be-dusk and casting the wooden floorboards with a vibrant glow. You take a moment from the heavy lifting to look out the window. Across the lawn, you can make out a couple of your neighbours engaging in some game. Upon closer inspection, you realise it’s Wally and Barnaby, the former laughing and tossing a series of colourful balls for Barnaby to catch.
You watched as Wally swung his arm and threw a few of the balls a surprising distance, letting the large, spotted dog race off to retrieve them. Wally put his hands on his hips, as if exhausted by the exertion. He turned - and locked eyes with you. Wally’s face broke out into a huge grin, and he gave you a hearty wave. Feeling horribly embarrassed, you waved back, trying to ignore the painful squeezing of your heart. You’ve only known Wally a week, and yet you’re utterly charmed by everything he does.
A tug on your arm brought you back to the present: it’s Julie. She bats her long eyelashes at you, a knowing smile on her face.
“You like hiiiiim, ” she teased, her voice all sing-song.
“What?!”
You grabbed Julie by the shoulders and yanked her away from the window, as if Wally could somehow hear you both through sight. “No! I don’t know where you got an idea like that-”
“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need to pretend.”
Your face felt like it was on fire. You’d always been the careful type, ensuring your innermost thoughts and feelings stayed stuffed as far down as possible to keep you safe. But the Neighbourhood bred a kind of emotional honesty with which you were totally unfamiliar. Everyone is so exuberant, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves - some of them even literally, as plenty of your new neighbours wore outfits stitched with cute little hearts! Keeping a secret in the Neighbourhood felt wrong…even a secret crush on the silly little artist whose smile lit up your insides.
So, you give in. “How did you know?”
Julie giggles. She fishes in the pocket of her dress, and pulls out a daisy.
“I know a lot about flowers,” she explained, as she twirled the stem between her fingers. “What kinds grow in different meadows. How much sun and water and love they need to grow. They show it in their petals, and how they lean. People are a lot like that too.
“When you arrived, you looked…wilted. Like you’d been kept out of the sun for too long. I could see it, but didn’t want to ask why. I think everyone else could, too…and we all wanted to help a new friend who lost their colour.”
“You’ve all been so lovely to me,” you said, by way of thanks.
Julie nodded. “Sure we have! And it worked, for a little bit. But for a flower at the end of its days, even fresh soil, plenty of sun and lots of water can only do so much. Your petals seemed faded for good. And that’s okay. I just wanted you to be happy - whatever that looks like for you.”
You swallowed. “You see a lot, for a gardener.”
Julie smiled. “When you care for flowers, you learn to listen to their needs. Sometimes, you’ll have a flower who has everything in the world…but they’re still curling up, and shying away from the light.”
She pressed the daisy into your palm.
“Wally brings the colour back to your petals,” said Julie. “Do yourself a favour. Don’t hide from your sun.”
Another squeeze from Wally brings you out of your recollection. You suck in a deep breath, facing this new reality of Wally holding you, his fingers pleasantly warm and fuzzy.
“Close your eyes,” says Wally gently.
For anyone else, you would’ve paused - but for Wally, you comply immediately.
Slowly, you feel Wally’s hands slide down your arms to your hands. He threads his fingers through yours and holds them firm, so tight that you start to feel your blood thrumming from the pressure. Your hearing, sensitive now your sight is compromised, picks up the distant chatter of your neighbours, as well as the friendly sounds of nature at play. Your skin tingles, sweat-slicked from the heat and the nerves.
“I have a question,” says Wally, his voice wonderfully calm and soft.
“Yes?”
“Why do you eat?”
“Uh…” What kind of question was that? Wally is admittedly prone to posing questions that only a truly strange mind would think up, but this one is so baffling, you’re thrown entirely for a loop. “...So I don’t die, I guess?”
“Ha ha ha ha!” Wally’s unique, halting laugh almost startles you into opening your eyes. “You’re so funny. Okay. Do you know why I eat?”
This time, it takes you a little longer to answer. A simple enough question, surely with the exact same answer? But Wally’s voice has taken on a teasing, knowing edge - a sound you recognise from when he’s setting up a punchline. The question must be a trick. So you rack your brains, trying to think of all the times you’d seen Wally eat: where he was, what he was eating.
With your eyes still closed, you reach a strange realisation.
“I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”
A soft chuckle from Wally. “That’s right. You haven’t.”
Wally’s grip on your hand tightens. Strangely, a weak, static noise buzzes to life, seemingly from inside your skull. You shift, trying to locate the source, but Wally holds you in place. As the noise grows, the sounds of your friends fizzle out and die. It’s as if you’ve been placed on an invisible train and are moving steadily down the track, away from all the familiar sounds of your Neighbourhood - but you can’t feel the rumbling of the track, or hear the whistle of the wind.
“But…maybe you should.”
With Wally’s words the temperature noticeably drops, and gooseflesh breaks out on your arms. You shudder, wanting to open your eyes but finding that you can’t: your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You’re stuck in place, pinioned to the grass (which you can no longer feel) as that buzzing sound inches up by the decibel, a nasty, steady crawl which leaves your brain awash in a sea of noise.
“Open your eyes.”
You do so.
And you can’t make sense of what you see.
The sky is gone. The tree is gone. The meadow is gone. Every detail from the Neighbourhood’s comforting landscape has evaporated, leaving nothing behind but a grayscale emptiness which fuzzes in and out like television static. Even the awful buzzing sound abruptly falls away, leaving your ears with nothing but the distant sound of an unseen tide.
Wally still sits in front of you, his hands grasping yours, but it’s like he’s sitting on nothing at all: somehow supported by a cushion of emptiness. It’s like the texture of the world has fallen out of reality.
Seized by vertigo, you tighten your grip on Wally’s hands. “What’s happening?!”
“Don’t worry,” says Wally. “You’re safe.”
“There’s nothing here,” you whisper. “Where is everyone?”
“Back Home,” says Wally. “They can’t see us right now. They’re not ready.” His smile turns coy. “But I think you are. Watch this.”
Wally reaches over and rustles in your backpack. Your heart crawls into your mouth; although you can see Wally’s hands in front of you, you can somehow still feel his hands holding both of yours, keeping you locked in place. You try to look down and make sense of this impossibility, but your eyes are stuck, glued to Wally’s face. You can only watch, terrified, as he takes out your chocolate bar and locks in his gaze.
Without warning, Wally’s eyes flare open, heavy lids drawing back and revealing the full size of his large, black pupils. Wally’s stare travels steadily down the chocolate bar, a focused intensity searing from his eyes like a laser. Somehow as he stares, bite marks are chunked out of the chocolate, as if some great invisible person is taking enormous chomps out of both the bar and wrapper. In seconds, the chocolate is gone.
Panic grips your chest, and you start to hyperventilate. The world tilts, and you’re scared you might actually puke. Wally blinks, his eyelids half-blanketing those pupils once more, and he looks at you with concern. When his eyes connect, your chest convulses with panic: a type of terror you’ve never experienced before threatening to claw its way out of your body and devour you whole.
“What happened?!”
“Oh, don’t be scared,” says Wally, his voice floating and cloudlike. “This is just how I eat.”
“How - did you - do - that?” you gasp.
“I’m not sure. I’ve always eaten this way.” Wally inclines his head in sympathy. “I am sorry if I’ve made you afraid. I usually only eat when others are blinking. That way, I don’t interrupt them. I don’t want to be rude."
You suck in a huge gulp of breath. “Wally, this is…impossible,” you manage. “I want to leave - I want to go Home-”
“You can’t.”
Wally shakes his head mildly from side to side, but his eyes seem to stay still, locked into the centre of his face. No matter how much you strain to move, those incredible eyes remain right in front of you, always at the same distance, never looking away - and never blinking. In your peripheral vision, you see Wally’s hand reach up towards your face. He cups your cheek. The sensation of feeling three arms belonging to a two-armed person on your body sends a rush of nausea through your throat. Wally strokes your skin with his thumb.
“You understand me so well,” says Wally. “You see me, don’t you?”
“I don’t understand.” Another wave of dizziness rises up, pushing behind your eyeballs. The sensation is the same as the pressure of allergies arising on a high pollen day - yet you can no longer smell the flowers of the meadow. You try again in vain to rip your gaze away from Wally’s, but you can’t - and you’re finding it harder and harder to keep your eyes open.
Wally’s thumb stops, resting in the dip of your cheek. “I love my friends, but they only see one part of me. The part they want to see. But you…”
His thumb trails to the edge of your lip.
“...you see all of me.”
You’re split in two. Your brain, the logical part of your thinking, is screaming at you to do anything - to move, to scream, to run as fast as you can into the nightmare emptiness and beg for help. But the other part of you - your traitorous, emotional heart - douses the runaway fire of your fear with the intoxication of Wally’s touch. You find yourself leaning into his hand, savouring how perfectly his cheek cups your palm, and the slight fuzz of his thumb teasing your lip.
“I do,” you whisper. Suddenly, your body relaxes, and you slump forward. You feel very tired. The panic which gripped your body only moments ago is now quashed, flattened into a fine layer of dust by the weight of Wally’s impossibly black eyes. Now your nervous system is nothing but the aftermath: the feeling of fight-or-flight chemicals settling into your bloodstream, leaving you weak and sluggish.
Now, Wally’s eyes are not a source of terror. They’re a blanket you wish to curl up beneath, and never wake up.
“I think you’re special, you know,” says Wally. “The way I feel when I’m around you is…different, than with the others. You’re the absolute most.”
Wally’s words settle over your brain like a dream. You watch, your eyes heavy and drained, as Wally brings his hands up to his chest and forms the shape of his heart with his fingers. You’re no longer scared of the physical contradictions of Wally holding your hands whilst signing his affection. It seems in this reality, Wally can have as many hands as he wants.
This is why Wally’s next question confuses you so:
“Do you think if our friends saw me like this…they’d run away?”
Wally’s words are becoming harder to process. The world around him tunnels. Even though you’re sure that you’re fixed in place, sitting on some immovable, textureless cushion, Wally’s eyes grow larger, encroaching evermore on your limiting field of vision. The longer you look, the more of Wally’s scleras are swallowed by his expanding pupils. Those blown, void-black pools seem to come with their own gravity, and you’re slipping into their inconceivable pull, ready to be strewn and stretched and ripped apart by their physics.
“Oh, Wally,” you try to say, but your tongue slackens, and his name comes out as, ‘Waaalllllyyyy.’ “We love you so much. You can’t make us run away.”
Wally smiles, and you think it’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen.
“How I wish that were true.”
Suddenly, Wally’s eyes shift just the slightest bit to the left. The effect is like unsealing a pressure chamber. For a moment you are released from his eyes, and your brain and body scramble as one, free-falling and bracing to break against the ground with a hypnic jerk. However, Wally realises his mistake and grabs you by the shoulder - another impossible arm - and forces you to look back into his eyes.
“Shh. Don’t strain yourself. The more you resist, the worse you’ll feel.”
You blink rapidly, trying to reorient yourself in space. Wally’s touch grounds you again, holding you steady in this non-existent space. You try to reply, but your mouth now hangs open, jaw useless. Saliva collects in a pool under your tongue, but Wally still keeps his thumb at the edge of your lip, now rubbing soothing circles against your flesh.
“We don’t have much time,” says Wally. “But…thank you for this. You can’t know how much I appreciate you.”
The warm flush of his approval works its way through your unresponsive body. Your muscles contract, dopamine and serotonin coating your insides and bringing your fingers - still interlocked with Wally’s - into a sudden contraction. You force your mouth into a speech-ready shape, fuelled by his words and his touch and the sheer paradox of his being, and you try so desperately to say, ‘Wally, I love you- ’
But then he looks away.
The spell is broken. Like flipping to another television channel, the world around you snaps back into place in one vivid bound. All the colour, sounds and scents of the Neighbourhood re-enter your senses in one huge burst, and the force of it almost knocks you over. Wally - who is still holding your hands, just like before - keeps you steady, crushing your hands together like he would rather die than let go.
“Hey, you two!”
Looking away from Wally feels like ripping off a plaster. Your eyes alight on Julie trotting up the meadow’s slight incline, clutching a hotdog in one hand and a cooler in the other.
“Eddie wanted me to tell you we’re packing up,” Julie chirps. “Looks like a thunderstorm is coming.” She looks down at your hands, still intertwined with Wally’s, and grins. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Just some good old-fashioned fun,” says Wally, his voice impassive and gentle.
The ability for words has deserted you. You stare back at Wally, searching desperately for something supernatural in the darks of his eyes. Wally looks normal - as normal as a small, yellow puppet can - and his eyes are back to their half-lidded, sleepy-looking state. It takes a couple of nudges with his foot for Wally to bring you back to earth.
Wally lets go of your hands, and you can feel the blood pumping in the spaces between your fingers. You try standing up, but your legs are weak and wobbly, as if you’d just run a marathon while sitting in one spot. They would’ve collapsed beneath you, but Wally catches you before you slip. He hauls you up and loops his arm around yours.
“Just hungry,” Wally says with a smile. “Let’s get you Home."
Julie leads the way down the small embankment, with Wally supporting your timid, uneasy steps. You soon reach your neighbours, now busying themselves in tidying up the remnants of your picnic. Upon seeing you, they all crowd around, asking if you’re okay. Barnaby remarks that you look terribly pale, and Sally offers to bring you a drink. However, Wally shoos them off, admonishing them in a familial sort of way. He reassures them that you’ve just had a small fainting spell, and need to get some rest.
Now free of the others, Julie, Wally and yourself make the way home - and you’re thankful it’s only a short distance. When you finally reach your porch you want to fall over onto the steps, but Wally keeps you held upright: a firm, reassuring presence at your side.
“You need to tell us if you get this again, okay?” says Julie, looking at you with worry in her eyes.
“Okay,” you say, giving a weak nod.
“Thank you. Feel better soon, okay?”
Julie gives you and Wally a final glance over. Having determined you’ll be more than fine in Wally’s care, she bids her goodbyes and skips off to help the rest of your neighbours.
“Ha ha ha,” laughs Wally. “Julie is a good friend. I’m lucky to have her in my life.”
You look sideways at Wally. He catches your eye, and dips his head in a nod. “I feel the same way about you,” he says.
The question is implied in his voice - a little waver at the edge of his words.
“Wally…I don’t really understand what happened today,” you say. “But…I know it doesn’t change how much I like you."
The beam that dawns on Wally’s face is so wide, it almost cracks in two. “Thank you,” he whispers.
You can’t help but return the grin. “Thank you for being vulnerable with me.”
Wally lets go of your arm, and turns to face you properly. He reaches up one hand, and then hesitates, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours as if pondering a question.
Finally, Wally leans in and gives you a small, gentle kiss on the cheek. You inhale sharply, your arms hanging limply by your side and your fingers curling into questioning shapes. His mouth is plush and downy, and the impression of his lips sends a toasty-sweet feeling rocketing through your body.
When Wally pulls back, his yellow skin is dusted pink about his cheeks.
“Always know,” he says softly, “that I love you very much.”
Then, he’s leaving. You watch in stunned silence as Wally’s back retreats into the distance, making his way to join the throng of your neighbours. A slight rumble in the distance makes you look up: a cluster of thunderclouds gather at the edge of the Neighbourhood, fat with the promise of rain.
You touch your lips gently, and smile. Then, you retreat inside the safety of your home…with the warm memory of Wally’s kiss playing in your mind, and static still buzzing in your fingers.
a little preview of a Maxime Le Mal x Reader fic i'm working on 😉 the Reader manages to sneak their way into an exclusive villain party hosted by Maxime...but what will happen when they get caught? 😳
rolls into here.... do you happen to have any headcanons or ideas perhaps on how nordic would treat his s/o. this is totally not for oc/canon / f/o reasons (lying)
the only idea i have so far is that he's like, 100% a little clingy even if he tries to cover it up
hell YEAH I DO!! oh my gosh i was hoping so much that someone would send in a request for our favourite sexy guitar man 🙈💖 he shows off so much character in such a short space of time...tell me what you think of this 😉
Nordic Bunny x Reader headcanons 🤘🎸
🎸 Nordic Bunny is the very definition of devoted to you. he's a man of deep insecurity and impossibly high energy, and when that's put in combination, you're in for a whirlwind of a romance!! he's always doting on you with unique, delightfully embarrassing (and LOUD) compliments, declaring you things like, 'The Awesomest Partner in the Galaxy!' and 'A Paragon of Beauty and Intellect!'. he simply doesn't have an ounce of shame in his body, so he pretends not to hear you when you try to get him to hush. in fact, you suspect that he rather likes the way his words make you squirm and blush! 😳
🎸 clingy doesn't even cover it - Nordic Bunny borders on separation anxiety. he's forever touching you in ways he tries to play off as casual: light touches on the waist, fingers curling around the shoulder...but Nordic always seems so disappointed when you finally break away. when the two of you are alone, he'll sometimes drop the bravado to ask you in a small voice, "You're not...planning on leaving any time soon, right?" at night he's insistent on being the big spoon, and curls around you like a latex blanket, tail wrapping over your thighs and strings tickling the back of your neck. he's forever terrified that you will find a reason to move on...so you know the best way to reciprocate is to be vocal with your love and generous with your attention 🥰
🎸 lucky for you that you have such a powerful villain for a partner...if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they'll be wiped from existence. you bet if someone throws a harsh word your way, Nordic Bunny is there to clap back instantly, with a, "You kiss your mama with that ugly mouth?!" or a, "I know you are, but what am I?!" the rebuttal is soothing, but just for show...because as soon as you're distracted, Nordic's going to send an army of Battle Crabs to pinch the offending person until they're seafood. make no mistake: Nordic Bunny would die for you, but he'd kill for you first 😉
