#been chipping away at this for several days

[verefex]

Corrupted by slime. I don't think the city is safe

[weredogart]

I rewatched Op. S.N.O.W.I.N.G. because it's been so warm lately, and it made me want to draw again.

Snowless version under readmore.

[jesterguy]

Basically what my past two weeks have amounted to

[duskerot]

i just put together my year in review art summary for the year and its interesting because compared to last year i think my technical skills improved but it feels a little bittersweet overall because as soon as i got my job all of that ambition just vanished LOL

[feluka]

My friend Anas is severely suicidal. He had already been struggling with mental health problems long before the war and now watching his parents and siblings languish under the famine is chipping away at his will to live day by day. Every day he tells me he wants to die and is growing more helpless against his suicidal thoughts and I don't know what to tell him. He is currently very physically ill as well. His tent just collapsed exposing him the rain.

I didn't want to share this because he deserves his privacy but after talking it through with him we don't know anymore what to do to make it clear just how dire things are. Please, please, do something to help him. Anything at all. Talk to anybody you know who has anything to spare. If you're on any other social media, if you're a streamer or creator with any following or you know any internet personalities with any reach, please help set anything up for him, or even just post his fundraiser anywhere along with the vetting link. I don't want to lose my friend.

[alexiroflife]

"megumi is annoyed with gojo for getting distracted with you and being late for everything because of it, so he makes it his life’s mission to ruin gojo’s chances of dating you..."

fluff, crack

gojo has a severe issue with constantly following you like a puppy dog wherever you go. after that day he had run into you on a whim at the park, your pretty (e/c) eyes locking with his as you both shared passing glances the moment your shoulders brushed, he was stuck to you. gojo stopped dead in his tracks, calling out to you and asking what your name was. you turned over your shoulder, stuttering to a stop upon realizing that handsome guy had been talking to you. you told him your name, that you attended the university down the block, and he was set.

gojo was sure to secure your number before you parted ways that day, approaching you as interested in friendship rather than someone completely enamored by your beauty and desperate to get to know you more. he would text you every day, from then on, pressing further about your hobbies and inserting himself into your daily routine, which you fortunately did not mind. the two of you end up spending a lot of time together, thoroughly enjoying each other’s presence.

megumi, ten years old, witnesses gojo’s clinginess with you fast because it quickly has an affect on how often gojo fulfills his responsibilities in looking after him. megumi remembers the first time gojo forgot about him because he was distracted by you. he had been meant to purchase and drop of megumi’s weekly groceries, but he ran into you at the supermarket and ended up helping you take your groceries home instead. megumi had to wait three hours for gojo to bring him his next week’s supply of food. things like this continued to happen the longer you to knew each other, but megumi knows it isn’t your fault that gojo is attached to you at the hip and flirts with you shamelessly but won’t muster up the courage to tell you he likes you. 

megumi’s last straw is when he is left stranded outside of his elementary school for forty-five minutes because he ran into you “eating at a cafe by yourself and you needed company.” the ten year old watches gojo pull up slowly with you in the passenger’s seat, waving at him apologetically with a kind smile. his blood boils as gojo smiles, shrugging bashfully and saying he lost track of time. megumi decides with a hastiness that he would ruin every chance gojo takes to flirt with you after the twenty one year old suddenly announces that he is driving twenty minutes opposite of his house to drop you off at your dorm. 

gojo first senses something is off when you are over at megumi’s house one day after school, looking for snacks in the cabinets. gojo and megumi are sitting at the kitchen island while megumi does his homework and gojo watches you move around with a soft smile on his lips, chin propped in his palm. you turn over your shoulder and ask the two if they have any chips, to which megumi beats gojo to answering: “gojo ate them all. he’s always eating everything in my house. i try to get him to stop, but i guess he just gets too hungry.” the white haired man slowly turns to face megumi as you carry on about your business, eyes wide and a mortified smile on his face. megumi doesn’t look at him, continuing his english homework. 

gojo knows he’s being targeted the second time around, when he suggests that you sleep over in his room because it is getting late and megumi advises you not to because he allegedly saw a nonexistent redhead leaving his room last night and is ‘worried about your exposure to lice.’ gojo chases the spikey haired kid around his living room later on after you inevitably go home, threatening to take him back to the zenin clan. 

the day megumi outright proposes that you get a boyfriend during a car ride over to your campus, gojo almost loses control of the steering wheel and decides he has to keep you as far away from megumi as possible. megumi gets his wish when gojo begins to pay more attention to the days he’s supposed to pick him up from school and separates his days with you from them accordingly, but megumi doesn’t plan to let this slide so easily. for weeks, he suffered the aftermath of gojo getting distracted by being your shadow, and for weeks gojo would suffer his karma.

when he hears you on the phone with him, megumi barges in the room and loudly asks to talk to you. you, overhearing, welcome the conversation gladly and ask gojo to hand over the phone while he glares animatedly at the boy’s blank face. he has to wait twenty minutes for megumi to finish talking monotonously about his day into the speaker, and by the time gojo gets his phone back, you have to head to a meeting with your classmates. the call ends and gojo ponders over why his kid is praying so intently over his downfall. 

and of course there are the days when you ask to come over to see gojo and megumi, and gojo is physically incapable of refusing quality time with you or telling you no in any regard. he practically begs megumi on his knees to behave five minutes before you arrive, to which the fushiguro blatantly ignores. the blue eyed sorcerer is fuming with rage as he sits across from you and megumi, watching as you help him with his science project after him asking for your assistance, a stunning, bubbly grin on your face. gojo’s initial frustrations shift into envy for your attention, and before you know it he’s pouting with his arms crossed in silence. 

megumi is satisfied with himself, concluding that gojo is officially fed up and has given up completely on pursuing you. he commends himself mutely for his successes after working so hard, though his actual enjoyment of your tranquil company made the experience more tolerable. he runs off to take a shower when you’re grabbing your belongings, preparing to uber back to your dorm. normally gojo pesters you about letting him drive you home when you’re over, so when he only flashes you a smile and holds the door for you as you walk through, you immediately think something is wrong.

the blue eyed man’s lips press together, eyes blank as he shakes and tells you everything is okay. your eyes slim in suspicion as you look over his face, unconvinced by his horrible lying skills. you ask again and he smiles again, telling you he is fine and to go enjoy the rest of your day without him. you furrow your brows in confusion before realizing that you had been busy with little megumi all day and hardly paid attention to your friend. he’s jealous. you giggle, and find it cute the way his half smile melts and he broods, perplexed by your laughter. 

you tease your friend of a few months, telling him that the next time you hang out, you two will spend the day alone. pink rises to gojo’s cheeks. “you still wanna spend time with me?” he asks and you scoff. “yeah, why wouldn’t i?” “i don’t know, i just thought megumi convinced you not to like me…”

you laugh again, the sound ringing like church bells in his ear. you tell him he’s ridiculous for getting worked up over a ten picking on him and puffs his lips and rolls his eyes. you know there is a mutual attraction shared between you and gojo. you’ve liked him since the second he asked for your number, but never said anything because he limited your relationship to what you assumed ws platonic flirting. now, watching him pout over the thought that megumi pushed you away makes you realize that there may be something real to his attachment to you.

a smug smile lifts to gojo’s face and his mood immediately improves. he tells you he’ll pick you up from your math class tomorrow for a ride, just the two of you. you hum in agreement and lean up to your tiptoes, holding the side of his face with your fingers and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “it's a date,” you say. you pull away and his expression is dopey, eyes dazed and grin bright. 

megumi runs back into the living room at the wrong time. he goes to grab his bookbag from the sofa and return it to his room when he catches a glimpse of the horror, his face scrunching in disgust as you peck gojo’s cheek at the front door. megumi turns grim, mourning over his failed plan. oh well, he tried. he wishes you luck dealing with that freak, and figures that the next time gojo annoys him, he can just save himself half the trouble and log him out of the shared netflix account.

you are halfway out the door, smile making your cheeks ache and heart bursting, when you hear megumi shouting from inside. “wash your mouth when you get home, (y/n)! you don’t know where he’s been!” you hear the front door slam and dramatic, muffled complaining follow as you walk to your uber stifling a laugh.

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[quirkycritters]

Game Night: CHAIN ATTACK!!!

i am,,, withering away but ITS DONE ITS DONE IM FREE FROM THE CURSE (<<< still haunted by wips) clocking in at 32+ hours, this sucker has been getting pushed around for 10 months-

while theres some things i would have done differently if i could redo this from scratch, i still had a BLAST cramming in as much detail as i could tolerate >:) some highlights / cut ideas / ramblings are below the cut, but please zoom for details! (if tumblr doesnt shred it to bits)

gonna be real i locked so hard onto drawing ripped jeans that i forgot i could have just shoved legend into a skirt and called it a day

SOCKS. SOCKS. the amount of Joy anytime i figured out how to personalize them with game references: legend (hibiscus), twilight (ordon goats), and four (force gems)

i WAS going to put time in a turtleneck, but had an epiphany and started digging for the most obnoxious hawaiian shirts i could find,,, ft. a sea flower (wind waker) and a saturation boosted plumm (twilight princess)!

yeah so warriors got the sweater instead of the skintight shirt, sorry gang

speaking of if i ever say im going to draw a cableknit sweater again, somebody PLEASE shake some sense into me- warriors sweater was a NIGHTMARE since my art program has an astonishing lack of good brushes (and yet here i am still using it)

MOST of the text has been modified using the twilight princess cipher because yeah. i was procrastinating shading. also the other ciphers were in japanese- times shirt is cropped, but reads "its 5 oclock somewhere"

winds lobster shirt :) that is all i just think its neat

wilds jacket :) link w(ild) 2017, aka the release year of botw

jewelry! sky has the fireshield earrings, and wild has the amber earrings~ could barely squeeze the bombos and quake medallions onto legend, and wind got the joy pendant

hyrule :D embroidery on his sweatpants because i was struck by whimsy- also i 100% thought his shield was purple tinted for weeks while drawing this because the page i used as reference was set at night, and i was originally basing his sweater on his shield- scrapped the cross pattern after several failed attempts but kept the color ^^

the chips are bbq because im biased (reads "crisps" in twilight princess cipher for no real reason except whimsy)

bless my dearest homie for game reccs because the og plan was to have them all be loz games! titles include wii sports resort, elebits, super mario party, smash bros ultimate, just dance 2016 (its box art is colorful ok), and myth makers orbs of doom (I HATE THIS GAME WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING, as i should, anyways i should play it again). four is suggesting orbs of doom, buddy aint even playing,,,

kinda was hoping to play around with hair colors and skin tones a bit more, but again, see the hour count- ill get em next time surely,,, also blue vs violet eyes for legend already had me in decision paralysis

the whole gang was gonna have friendship bracelets with color combos based on dynamics i found neat but oops! didnt finish the layer :')

thats a wrap! didnt yap about everything but im curious what yall catch onto- anyways surely ive learned something about biting off more than i can chew (<<< lying liar who lies)

[falling-endlessly]

The Finer Things in Death

Alastor x Soulmate!Female!Reader

Summary: An AU where your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your body in their handwriting.

Oh dear, where's your smile?

You knew those words by heart. Could recite them backwards, in your sleep even. Those damning words have been inscribed on the inside of your ankle for as long as you could remember, the elegant cursive strokes poking out of your shoe line.

In theory, somewhere, someone else was supposed to be sporting your own neat, boxy handwriting. You'd say you lucked out with yours. Some soul marks were less than pleasant, and others were downright embarrassing (imagine having the words move, asshole written on your stomach for the rest of your life. No thank you).

At least your soulmate was trying to cheer you up, right?

Yeah, but there was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Your soulmate was dead. Long dead actually.

Were they stillborn? Did their toddler self die in a house fire or something? Night after night you laid awake in your bed, pondering what the hell could have possibly happened to have altered the entire course of fate.

All you really knew was that your soul mark was a light gray (indicating a severed bond) instead of the usual inky black, and it had been since the day you were born. Everyone was in shock to see the faint words on your little ankle. After all, how could a soul mark exist if the other person wasn't even alive to speak those words into existence?

Simply put, you were a conundrum, and it had been some time since you had dedicated effort into figuring out why? You'd accepted it. Your soulmate was dead. Life went on.

Besides, you'd spent enough time grieving over someone you'd never met before.

Your lifestyle was not extravagant by any means, but it was comfortable. You had a steady income, lived on your own in an apartment in the city, and survived off of more than ramen bowls. Every day you would come home and read in your little fluffy alcove that you'd built yourself by your window, or pop open a bag of chips (and the occasional bottle of wine, if you were feeling fancy) while you watched the latest crime show releases from your couch.

Yes, so comfortable was your little routine, that you didn't notice the robbery happening in the convenience store you were browsing in, or the stray bullet coming for your head until it was too late. Your skull exploded in a world of pain, eyes rolling back as your body crumpled to the ground.

Dying was an interesting experience, to say the least. Your soul floated from your body, the final notes of music that blasted from your earphones fading into nothingness like the sound of a car driving away.

There was a brief moment where you were struck numb, hovering in the air as you stared down at your glassy eyed corpse, blood pooling alarmingly from the circular shaped hole in your head. You heard screams of the other customers behind you, but they were kind of muffled, like you were underwater.

It didn't last long though, because before you knew what was happening, you felt an almighty tug downwards,  like an anchor had just chained itself to your stomach.

And that was how you ended up in hell. Fun. What were you here for? You had no idea. Maybe God got mad that your teenage self stole a few packs of gummy bears in high school. But a life of eternal damnation and suffering seemed a little harsh, didn't it?

Before you could contemplate the semantics of it though, something...strange happened. Your ankle, right where you'd tried countless times to forget your soul mark existed, was burning like a fucking brand.

You hissed sharply in pain, frantically pulling down your sock to assess the damage. Was the eternal punishment starting already or something? Shit, you had terrible pain tolerance.

But what you saw made you gasp. In fact, you could hardly believe your eyes.

Because in the place of your faded grey soul mark, the letters had been reinvigorated, darkened with a swift hand and—glowing they were glowing holy shit.

"Hah," you huffed in disbelief, shaking your head slowly. "So that was it, huh? I was destined to meet my shitty soulmate in hell this whole fucking time?" You punctuated the last words with a few angry kicks to an unassuming patch of weeds. What a cosmic joke at your existence.

But, like you always did in shitty situations, you gathered all of your raging emotions, stuffed them tightly in a box at the back of your mind, and cooled your head. Freaking out in this place would do you no good.

Turned out hell was pretty much like the world you'd left, except for the fact that you could kill someone on the street and nobody would bat an eye. Like all of the depraved aspects of humanity were on full display now in a somehow still functioning society.

You managed to snag a job at an old record store, the owner giving you one look before grunting and gesturing to the register—but not before lifting his jacket to show you the long assault riffle strapped across his chest. Yeesh, you got the message.

It wasn't a bad job by any means, especially considering where you were. Sure a little boring and monotonous, but you'd restock thousands of old albums if it meant staying away from the overlords.

Oh, yeah, another thing. Overlords were like the big shots around hell. Messing with them usually meant a death sentence, or worse, a contract.

And if there was anything at all that you picked up from all those nights of watching television, it was that you do not make deals with the devil. Really, elementary level shit. And you'd never actually seen Lucifer, mind you, but these demons were probably a close second, right?

Yeah, so really, you were just living a shittier variant of your life on earth it seemed. Repetitive, safe and comforting. You were even starting to like the scent of musty cardboard, as weird as that was.

And once again, all thoughts of your soulmate slipped your mind.

Until one day, when everything went to shit.

****

It started like this: with the sad sight of your empty fridge.

You groaned, dragging a tired hand down your face. Seriously? You thought you'd restocked already, damn it. 

Your stomach growled achingly, and you sighed, wondering if you'd actually die again if you starved yourself. Begrudgingly, you decided that you didn't really want to chance it, throwing on the first set of clothes that you saw and slipping out of your dingy apartment to make a quick grocery run.

You generally hated leaving your apartment, and didn't do so except to retrieve bare necessities or walk across the block to go to work.

Why? Well, see exhibit A to your left: some poor, random demon screeching and running around on fire. See exhibit B to your right: a turf war between two rival gangs. And finally how could you forget, cannibal colony, slurping up intestines like bloody, chunky spaghetti. Disgusting.

The worst thing about hell wasn't the fact that you were in hell, it was the fact that the worst of the worst people were all cramped together like some fucked up refugee camp, and some people were significantly worse than others. Which sucked, for the poor unfortunate souls just trying to get by. Like you.

You sighed, ducking under a stray stream of bullets (you weren't falling for that shit twice) and side stepping pools of blood and guts. Just a regular Monday morning in hell. God damn it.

It seemed luck wasn't on your side though, because an ugly, dog-headed demon blocked your path, sneering down at you smugly. "Hey bitch, it's your lucky day. The big boss is hiring, and you fit the profile."

You clenched your grocery bags in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would give a flying fuck if you were dragged off of the street in broad daylight. "Not interested."

"Oh it wasn't a suggestion," he chuckled darkly. You tensed as you were surrounded by at least four other demons. Shit, you knew you should have slept in.

"You like apples?" You nodded sharply at the demon in charge.

His face twisted in annoyance. "Why the fuck do y—"

You reached into your bag, before hurling a granny smith straight at his forehead. He yelped as it made contact, stumbling back as he shook his head in confusion. While everyone was still in shock from your weapon of choice, you shoved your way out of the circle, gunning it straight down the street because your second life did depend on it.

"Get her!" You heard a yell of absolute rage, making you shiver. Fuck, that did not sound promising. That apple must have really pissed him off.

Putting your limited aerobics to use, you ducked, dodged and lunged through the crowd like a pro. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, air burning your lungs as you pumped your legs faster. But of course, your grocery bag ripped open, sending all of your food tumbling and you by extension, tripping and face planting in the dirt rather pathetically.

A meaty hand gripped a handful of your hair, yanking it up harshly. You cried out as he pulled, hands uselessly trying to smack his away, but his hold only tightened. A liquor-filled breath and cheap cologne invaded your senses, making you cough.

"Uppity bitch," he growled, giving your scalp a painful yank for good measure. "You actually thought you could get away? Maybe I should teach you a lesson, huh? Sample the goods."

You froze, every nerve in your body going cold. So far in your stay in hell, you'd managed to avoid the more depraved souls here. You kept your head down, didn't draw attention to yourself, and were mostly left alone. Looked like today, your luck had finally run out.

"Get the hell off of me!" You spat, twisting around vehemently, only for your head to snap to the side as you were harshly backhanded.

"Stop your fucking whining and stay still!" He snapped, narrowing his eyes.

You bared your teeth, snapping at him aggressively.

A round of mocking chuckles went around the group of your kidnappers, the one holding your hair giving you a wicked grin. "Shit, that was cute. Really—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because his head exploded. Literally exploded, blood and brain matter dripping from your face. His hand went slack, dropping you on your wobbling knees.

Everyone was silent for a second, staring at the bloody mess where the demon was standing two seconds prior.

And that was when you heard it. Static. Loud, crackling and ominous.

Your mouth went dry. Shit. Shitty shit shit. You knew what that meant. How could you not? The asshole broadcasted his killings all over hell like a fucking psychopath. And now, it was your turn to become hell's gory entertainment. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You stood frozen, breath stuck in your throat as dark, menacing tendrils slowly curled along the walls. A large, grinning shadow rounded the corner, before the culprit himself stalked into view, razor sharp teeth on display as he tilted his head. "Oh," his grin widened. "Am I interrupting?"

"N-No man," one of the braver demons stuttered, taking a step back. "You can have her—"

Splat.

You turned slowly to face the bloody wall, eyes wide in disbelief.

"How distasteful," the radio demon shook his head. "As if I'd participate in your brainless thuggery. No, no. Unlike you gentlemen, I have class. Truly," his eyes lit up like glowing radio dials, a dark shadowy mass rising behind him as his antlers branched out like a gnarled, rotten tree. "Did your mother never teach you any manners?"

Faster than you could blink, the demons around you were reduced to blood, cartilage and splintered bone. The overwhelming irony scent made you want to gag, but you didn't dare move a muscle, eyes fixated on the terrifying sight before you.

When the radio demon noticed your staring, his smile sharpened, antlers shrinking as he leisurely approached you. Oh no. Nononono.

You struggled to keep from hyperventilating, your body going into shock as he leaned into your personal space. Two bloody fingers pushed into your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a morbid, artificial smile. "Oh dear," he tutted in amusement. "Where's your smile?"

You jerked back violently, eyes wide as icy cold realization washed over you. Dread squeezed your lungs as you stared at the grinning, bloody figure of your soulmate in horror.

The radio demon. Psychopath and mass murderer.

Your soulmate.

What the FUCK.

"T-This," your voice shook. "This is not happening."

There was a sudden screech of radio static, before his own eyes widened. Shit. "What," he said sharply. "Did you just say?"

"A-Ah," you trembled, leaning back. Every single nerve in your body was alight, screaming at you to get the ever-loving fuck away from him.  In what was probably the stupidest and most desperate plan of your life, you pointed over his shoulder fearfully. "Look! Another one!"

As soon as he turned his head, you bolted down the street.

****

You slammed your front door closed behind you, double—triple checking your lock before sliding down to the floor in a panting mess.

Immediately you grew paranoid. What the fuck were you thinking? A lock wouldn't keep the radio demon out. You needed fifty more locks and ten more doors. You needed to barricade yourself inside for the next month. You needed—

"Hello there!" An exuberant voice chirped.

You screamed, throwing the first thing you could grab in his direction. He caught the house slipper, inspecting it in amusement, before tossing it over his shoulder.

"My, did I scare you sweetheart? Apologies," he grinned smugly, relaxing in your recliner with a mug of coffee. Your favorite mug.  

You blinked. What the fuck?

"What are you doing in my house?" You squeaked, fingers digging into your welcome mat.

"Oh dear, allow me to introduce myself," he set the mug down on your coffee table, leisurely rising from the couch and offering a hand. "I'm Alastor! A pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, quite a pleasure."

You didn't take his hand, instead choosing to gape at him like a dead fish.

He retracted his hand, tilting his head with a shit-eating grin. Twirling his cane, he continued like there wasn't just an awkward and terrifying pause. "I hope you don't mind that I followed you! You see, I believe our conversation was cut a bit...short." His eyes glowed as unidentifiable symbols floated in the air around him.

As quickly as they appeared however, they disappeared like they were never there. Jesus Christ, this man was giving you emotional whiplash. "Anywho!" He perked up again, ever the charming grin on his face. "Enough about me! I've yet to catch your name, darling."

Fuck. You really didn't want to give him your name.

But before you could open your mouth, he leaned closer to you, grin widening ominously. "I hope you're not thinking of lying, my dear. I must say, I'm not very fond of that quality."

"Y-Y/n!" You said quickly, raising your hands to shield your face.

There was a slight pause, before a gentle touch swiped at your cheek, retracting after a moment. You peeked your eye open, only to become vaguely ill at the sight.

"You had a little something on your face," he chuckled in amusement, holding out a clump of brain matter. With a swift flick, it was magicked away.

"What do you want?" You whimpered, overwhelmed with the entire situation.

"Oh dear, is it really that strange for me to want to get to know my soulmate?" He tilted his head, leaning towards you uncomfortably close.

"Y-Yes, actually," you stuttered, trying to look anywhere but his prominent red eyes. "I thought you'd do something more along the lines of...killing and eating me." You shrunk back as his grin widened. "Please don't eat me."

"How morbid, I would never!" He waved it away, like the idea was preposterous. "My word! What awful rumors you've been hearing about me!"

"You frequent cannibal colony and I just saw you tear apart six demons like they were freshly baked bread," you stared at him incredulously. "What hasn't been spot on?"

He paused, before giving you a humoring chuckle. "Well it seems your impression of me needs correcting!" Before you knew what was happening, nimble fingers encircled your wrist, pulling it forward gently. He pressed warm lips to the back of your hand, before giving you a charming grin. "Enchanté, ma chère."

You blinked, breath stuck in your throat. "What—What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it!" He gently set your hand down, before pinching your cheek condescendingly. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I have other responsibilities I must attend to!"

He stood up with a flourish, leaning on his microphone cane as he smirked at you. "Not to worry!" He snapped his fingers, and a slim, feminine shadow emerged from the ground. "Missy here will watch over you in my stead."

"What? No, I—"

"I'll be back before you know it!" He offered a chilling smile, before melting into a puddle of shadows.

You gaped at the spot where he once stood, trying to process what the actual fuck just happened. Your gaze slid over to the feminine looking shadow, still standing in the corner of your living room. She grinned at your attention, teeth sharpened.

You closed your eyes, head thumping back against your door in exhaustion. 

"I'm so fucked."

****

Enchanté, ma chère : Charmed, my dear

[clockwayswrites]

Birds and wings and hope Part 13

Masterpost

Danny had thought hat if he finished with Frostbite early that he would spend a few days in the zone to catch up with some of the other ghosts. He hadn’t wanted to with the wings. It wasn’t that Danny was ashamed of the wings, not from the fact of having different features, but Frostbite had seemed certain that Danny was in a heavily mutable state right then. The more people that knew Phantom with wings, the more likely they were to stick as they cemented in consciousness and identity.

Or something like that.

Danny had a whole stack of reading tucked away in his chest to go through later.

Just wanting time alone, Danny had given himself somewhere between an hour and a day (time was hard to tell in the zone) to sulk among the sparks and dust that were long dead stars before forced himself to get a grip and go home. He was an adult for, well, him sake he guessed. He could deal with this.

The reading set on the left side of the coffee table with a fresh notebook next to it. It wouldn’t do to mix up this work with his actual work, so Danny was sure to pick out one with a green cover from the stash that he kept on hand of his favorite dot patterned paper notebooks. He’d draw a blob ghost or something on it later. A few color pens and a highlighter joined the little pile, set in a battered and chipped Amity Park tourist trap mug.

Sam had gotten it for Danny as a present due to the so hideous it was funny caricature of Phantom on it.

On the right side of the coffee table went a box of protein bars, electrolyte drinks, suck’em candies, and Danny’s well stocked pill container. He moved the coffee table a little closer to the couch, turned the TV on to a playlist of Mythbuster episodes, and made sure he had his favorite blanket in hand before he transformed back.

And fuck that hurt. Pain shot up Danny’s back, radiating up through his shoulders, and shooting along his Lichtenberg scars so intensely that they burned. Danny collapsed inelegantly onto the couch with a defeated whimper.

Maybe it was the wings? Did having a different set of limbs as a ghost cause transfered muscle aches to his human form? He didn’t even have muscles as a ghost, not really, but the mind was a very powerful thing and not even Frostbite was entirely sure of how exactly the two parts of a halfa effected each other.

After the worst of the pain had dulled slightly, Danny managed to toss back his medication (missing doses while Phantom never did him any good) and pulled the candies close enough that he could use them as a distraction for his senses. Slowly the muscle relaxant worked its magic and Danny became a boneless lump. The episodes of Mythbusters idly distracted him as he just let his thoughts drift over what Frostbite had said.

Frostbite was sure that there had to be a reason— or several— that Danny’s form had shifted into a bird and after retained the wings still. Frostbite felt the first step to this all, if Danny was determined to either control or to get an understanding of where this all was going, was to understand the subconscious or symbolic particulars of the change.

The why Frostbite felt was clear: Danny had been without a haunt for too long now. Yes, he accepted, the pollen may have certain accelerated matters (hence the full bird then and only the wings now), but Frostbite was admit that the change wouldn’t have been occurring at this stage if Phantom had still been the protector of Amity Park.

Phantom had a purpose in Amity Park. Phantom was a protector and guardian. That guardianship extended to a very limited range. Now that Amity Park was many, many years behind him and Danny was living in a place already full of its own protectors, the Phantom part of Danny was left adrift which allowed for this new stage of ghosthood.

Why couldn’t his ghost half just be happy with a nice long nap?

“Fuck you, Phantom,” Danny grumbled as he watched a car be vaporized upon impact on the screen. Idly Danny wondered if he could get an object up to that speed if he flew fast enough.

Several hours and several protein bars later, Danny was managing to sit up enough to start going through some of the reading Frostbite had sent and make notes. Two more episodes and delivered Indian food later, Danny scrawled on the top of a fresh page ‘The Subconscious & Symbolic Particulars of Wings’.

Why on earth and beyond did he have wings?

‘Flying’, Danny wrote first and then as many reasons he could think of why he loved flying from the freedom of it to space to the way that it felt to move through a cloud. ‘Freedom’ branched off into movement and escape and getting to become his own person without the weight of Amity. ‘Gravity’ and ‘Identity’ sprawled into transformation and his death and the million of ways that it had changed everything about his life.

It was hard to think about.

Danny turned the page.

‘Wings’. Wings and feathers. Birds. Pigeons and crows and ducks and robins. And Robins. Biblically accurate angels who created the cosmos. Hope. And always hope.

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers — ”

Hope and Robins and Bats.

And always hope.

Was Gotham his haunt?

Was he the thing with feathers?

---

AN: shhhhh I've been writing as my wind down before sleep. Also special prize for @stoiczee. I promise we'll see more batfam next part. Danny just needed some time to react!

[xjulixred45x]

I could't contain myself guys sorry--

Bro, do you realize how scary it would be to have Vox as a Yandere?

just imagine it. You could be one of his workers, maybe too good at your job, because not only do you do what Vox tells you without asking questions, but you also know what to say and what not to say to avoid a "tantrum" from him. or rather, when his insecurities attack with force like when Alastor returns.

Vox would probably be a somewhat condescending yandere (as seen with Val) but don't think you can't turn tables easily, if you stroke his ego enough, you can have him around your finger. but that doesn't make it any less dangerous for those around you.

He makes the typical 180 degree turn in attitude when it comes to Other Employees and when it comes to You. Damn, you may be the only one of his employees who gets paid vacations (or even vacations) or even birthday bonuses, things like that. He likes to give you his things or products with the excuse that "they are for testing" even if they have already been released on the market.

Like:

Vox: who the fuck eat My leftovers!?! WHENEVER WHO WAS I'M GOING TO-

Darling: it was me sir.

Vox:--give You the rest and take You out for lunch, You haven't eaten in the whole day AGAIN, didn't ya?

He definitely avoids conflict with you by hypnotizing you, when he starts to feel hostility, fear on your part or that you want to leave, he makes you "out of nowhere" have "ONE MORE TASK" and you can't help but do what he says.

and IT IS NOT just to avoid fights or for you to leave, it is something CONSTANT (once every two days MINIMUM), although Vox is not worried about your brain turning into mush due to its powers, it always keeps nutritious things in your diet and they come out relatively often , as you have to follow him everywhere.

Eventually he becomes more clingy and needy in this case, it's practically not that he's proposing to you or anything, he's just slowly dragging you into a relationship without you realizing it (because you're not lucid enough). Unless you develop a higher level of tolerance to his hypotonic trick, I don't think you'll notice his Red Flags.

I think it would be ESPECIALLY BAD if Darling is also a Sinner, because then they wouldn't even be able to get out of the pride ring to run away from Vox. leaving you with many fewer options and having to avoid all of Vox's technology, which you could only achieve by 1- going to the Cannibal Legion or 2- going to the Hazbin Hotel.

Running away is EXTREMELY DIFFICULT, not only because of his hypnotic trick, but because he literally has EYES EVERYWHERE, on every screen in hell. If you somehow manage to get away with it and run away, Vox would be SO ANGRY and looking for you all over hell with their screens.

Although definitely if you were gone more than a day, he would be more distraught than angry and would begin to despair. Even Val and Velvet would give him a hand because of how bad it would be.

Just imagine, thinking that you finally lost sight of Vox's search drones, without realizing that you stand in front of some store and VOX ITSELF appears on the screens :)

If you made the stupid decision to go to the Hazbin Hotel, Vox would be distraught and would even think that Alastor was somehow holding you hostage, obviously! Why would you go there if you knew his biggest enemy was there? Alastor must be using you as a bargaining chip! How dare he!?

(in this case, fortunately, the punishment is much less severe, but he would definitely monitor you for the rest of your life)

When he eventually gets you back (after a few days or even WEEKS of anguish) expect, first of all, to be in a mortal embrace that lasts AT LEAST 2 days and then receive your "punishment" which would be to be under hypnosis for AT LEAST 1 YEAR to be sure that this NEVER HAPPENS AGAIN.

Although calm down! He gives your mind breaks periodically because 1- he doesn't know if that would ultimate mess with your head and 2- it's nice to hear YOU talk instead of the robotic version.

When that year FINALLY ends, you will be a much more obedient, more terrified, sweeter version of You, according to Vox, like a frightened Deer. It was a long and hard process, but the good thing is that you don't have to do anything anymore! absolutely! Just do what he tells you and everything will be fine.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Not one of the Best yanderes to have, but Def not the worst

[muletia]

These obsessed Orian and Optimus fics have got me thinking about what if Megatron was just as obsessed with reader as Optimus, and they have a tug of war sort of battle between them where one side snatches you for their leader back and forth.

It has gotten to the point where you couldn’t even sleep in your own home anymore without some decepticon destroying your ceiling in order to take you away to their leader like a toy.

Megatron would definitely see reader as a tool to further his goals as well as leverage to use against Optimus. He laughed out loud when he heard about his nemesis having feelings for a puny human. If Megatron could punch his past self for daring to think so lowly of you, he would do it without a second thought. He is so much worse than Optimus because he doesn’t allow you to leave him sight even when you plead that you have to go to work.

Work? What work? You don’t need to work anymore now that you’re his queen. Don’t be ridiculous.

Oh, but Optimus… He. Is. Pissed. He would never rest until you were back in his servo safe and sound. He would quite literally crash out as soon as he found out Megatron took his beloved.

I love having two obsessed bots fight over me <3

YOU ARE SO BIG BRAINED OMG, these ideas are so tasty

okay, this scenario could unfold in several ways, but i see a huge comedic potential here. at first, of course, there's nothing funny about it at all, because being kidnapped by the leader of the decepticons himself to be used as a bargaining chip is far from humorous. but! let's say that despite the hopelessness of your situation, you dare to resist, to fight back, because you know that megatron doesn’t have the guts to hurt you. he knows you’re too important to optimus, and killing you gains him nothing. the problem is that by being defiant, you end up sealing your fate because megatron starts to take an interest in you. at first, he’s just fascinated by you, maybe even slightly amused. but this unimportant infatuation quickly turns into something more, something that terrifies megatron himself. it’s stronger than him, more powerful, more aggressive, and more relentless. suddenly, you’re no longer a bargaining chip—you’ve been promoted to a much worse position. you’ve become his partner, his second-in-command, his queen. someone who suddenly holds immense significance for him. and that is absolutely terrifying.

megatron doesn’t get to enjoy your company for long, though, because you’re quickly rescued by the autobots. optimus is, of course, ecstatic that the mission was a success and that you’re finally safe, but for a few days, you’ll have to kiss your social life and work goodbye, as optimus will insist on you being under constant supervision at the base. maybe during this time, the two of you grow closer despite the circumstances of your house arrest? and despite the paranoia wreaking havoc in optimus's processor, part of him is content with having you constantly in sight and that your relationship has warmed even more.

the same can’t be said for megatron, who is, to put it mildly, tweaking out. is he just supposed to let you go after he’s had a taste of you? after he’s grown to enjoy your company and having you always within reach? ha! he’s not letting go that easily. a few days after you return to your normal life, a random vehicon gets the order to bring you back to nemesis, straight into his master’s hands. megatron is satisfied—you, not so much—and optimus is losing his mind. this time, however, the rescue mission doesn’t go as smoothly. the leader of the decepticons personally keeps an eye on you, and you’re constantly watched by soundwave. but let’s say the autobots manage to rescue you again... until you’re kidnapped once more.

and here’s where the comedic aspect kicks in. at some point, your fear for your life shifts to irritation. by the tenth time you land in the servos of the great leader of the decepticons, whose most sinister plans apparently involve just keeping you here against your will and occasionally you patting him on the helm, it’s honestly just exhausting. the most troublesome part is the lack of autonomy—otherwise, you’re pretty much chilling as long as you don’t tease or provoke him. although, even that gets boring after a while. you just want to live a normal life... you never asked to be sandwiched between the boobs of two leaders who do nothing but bark at each other...

[kirozai]

—HSR YANDERES AS TROPES.

Forced Proximity? Soulmates..? Amenesia! Common tropes that always end up happy! Your favorite characters love you so so much! But.. is it in the way you want?...

content warnings: yandere, toxic love, unreliable narrator, descriptions of gore, unrealistic relationships, unwanted PDA, depressive elements, suggestive, gn!reader (maybe ideas for makeup but most of the part is gn) pairing(s): sunday x reader, blade x reader, aventurine x reader, jing yuan x reader word count: around 350-500 each, 2100+ words in all A/N: I got a tiny bit carried away

Aventurine - Amnesia

WHAT’S PLAYING: engravings - Ethan Bortnick

Your eyes are blinded by the casino lights. The sound of chips being thrown and cards being shuffled fills your ears. Things feel so familiar, but at the same time, completely foreign. You turn your eyes to your lover. At least you think he’s your lover.

Two weeks ago you woke up in the dead of night on a hospital bed feeling numb from your head to the tips of your toes. The hospital lights were blinding making you feel dreary. You slowly regained movement by wiggling your fingertips and finally being able to sit up on the comfortable bed. As you gazed around the room you felt shocked to see gold engravings on the trim of the walls. It’s obvious it was a hospital, but it felt too expensive.

And you? You felt out of place.

A nurse walked into your room with a pan of what seemed like a new IV bag and other things like syringes and such. She turned wide-eyed and gasped as she suddenly dropped the pan of expensive medical equipment. You couldn’t make out what she said as she mouthed something out loud. The drowsiness hit you and you passed out.

The next time you woke up to a man sitting beside your bed in the most luxurious clothes you ever laid eyes on. He looked worried, very worried. Realizing you woke up once again his Avgin eyes-

Wait Avgin?...

“Sweetheart! You’ve been out for months. How are you feeling? Is there any pain? How… Can…?” He spoke quickly but after the first couple of sentences, his words faded into mush.

He called you sweetheart though, you deduced he was someone close to you. Someone that must have cared for you. 

But then why do you feel-

Cutting your thoughts you paused. Thinking was causing you too much pain and headache at the moment. You tried to recall what happened. 

And at that moment you realize you couldn’t even recall who you were.

After some time of recovery, you were able to get a couple of things down. The handsome man’s name was Aventurine. He is your lover. (?) You two have been together for quite some time now. You were diagnosed with severe amnesia, but your lover was kind enough to explain everything to you. Although, he was still hesitant to explain what happened to you and the reason why you were in the hospital.

You tried to get something out of the many doctors and nurses, but they seemed… scared.

Aventurine never left your side when other people were around. It was either you and him or no one at all. Leaving you lost and not being able to truly be clear about your condition. Everything went through Aventurine. 

One day during your walk around the large hospital, Aventurine got a call. He looked at it and furrowed his eyebrows, smiled at you, said it was an urgent call, apologized, and left for a brief moment. 

You dragged your IV stand a couple of steps more and abruptly stopped in your tracks as you overheard a pair of nurses talk about… you?

“IPC… they… lies… Aventurine… hiding.” Those were the only few words you were able to make out.

It no longer mattered though because Aventurine’s bright smile found you again and you walked back to your room first. If only you could see the piercing glare that he sent to the nurses. He wouldn’t know what to do if you heard about the fates of them after spreading lies to your pretty head.

After the recovery, you settled in enough to “your life”. Now you sit next to your lover whose luck shines more vibrant than a newborn baby’s laughter. You feel content for the most part.

I wonder if you would still feel content if you were able to take a good look past Aventurine’s perfect poker face. While you sleep he watches you worriedly, wondering if you’ll remember one day. Remember that this perfect love story he crafted isn’t so perfect after all. He wonders how you would react if you were to find out again the atrocities he’s committed in the name of “love”. He holds his chips tightly, but luck has always been on his side.

So tonight like any other night, you’ll smile with no idea of what had occurred in the past. At the end of the day, occasionally it is better to live unaware.

•••

Jing Yuan - Grumpy x Sunshine

WHAT'S PLAYING: Carousel - Melanie Martinez

The Luofu General was known for his joyous laughter and the positivity that he spread throughout the entire planet. He joked and was an infectious smiler. You on the other hand were known as the Yin to his Yang. If Jing Yuan was the sun, you were his moon. It’s adorable on paper, isn’t it?

You do nothing less than agree with the fact that your husband Jing Yuan was very positive. The reason why differed from others though. 

You believed the reason he was so happy was because he sucked every smile, every laugh out of you. 

Your story was the average fairytale, opposite attracts and then they fall in love. The End.

Unfortunately for you, Jing Yuan was anything but ordinary, and maybe that played a part in your perfect tragedy. 

Jing Yuan loved you. You knew that for sure. He had always been a PDA person, always close to you and you would most likely be seen dead than without his arm around your waist. It wasn’t a big deal though. This is what lovers usually do right?

Until you tried to back away. Things got… messy. 

Arguments ensued and you realized that he never really treated you as an equal. He loved you, yes, but he viewed you as lesser and somehow put you on a pedestal at the same. exact. time.

“You don’t respect me.” You stated firmly.

“But I love you.” He replied as if nothing was wrong.

You never thought your husband to be a jealous person and truly he was not. The possessiveness is what got you through.

It began small from making excuses on why you shouldn’t go out,

“It’s my day off!” or “It might rain soon.” Both are lazy excuses you’ve heard again and again. Yet you still seemed to fall again and again for his sunshine charms and wits.

You were the perfect lover to Jing Yuan, loving, kind, and malleable to believe whatever he wanted you to believe.

At some point after the large argument you two shared, you didn’t remember the last time when you had left the estate. 

You felt stuck, stuck on a carousel that kept going around and around and stuck trying to read between the lines of Jing Yuan’s perfect facade. If you caught him at the wrong time you wouldn’t see him for days and when he would return he would haphazardly apologize with the stupidest excuses. 

You never raised your voice anymore after THAT argument though. You were too scared to. So even when he scratches his name into your skin, even if he hugs you so tightly to the point that you feel like your lungs are collapsing, you find excuses for him. For yourself. To make this entire relationship work

Because you love him.

And you don’t not what scares you more anymore. The slight warning in his tone and the ever-present toxicity seeping its way into your originally “perfect” marriage. 

Or.

The fact you’ll still stay even if it gets worse.

Why?

Because you love him.

•••

Blade - Forced Proximity.

WHAT’S PLAYING: This is Love - Air Traffic Controller

There’s blood on the walls, the floors, and even on the couch. Anything you’ve been able to find you’ve smashed onto the ground. Your hands are covered in blood. No worries to Blade though. He sits on the couch covered in the blood of a man. Your eyes flicker to the dead body right in front of you. The now dead man who tried to help you escape from this prison Blade oh so lovingly calls “your” home to no avail.

Blade’s red eyes stare into the distance of space. Perhaps he’s wondering what he should do next for your transgressions. Perhaps he is wondering what he can do to make you smile again. Or maybe, he doesn’t care. Maybe he finds happiness and contentedness in your suffering. After all, a being who is forever stricken by mara might find peace in others' pain. 

But.

Past this mara-stricken being is a man who does have some semblance of love for you. Blade knew your every like and dislike. He would trail kisses up your neck and on your lips. You’d joke together. You both were disgustingly domestic at times. At least that’s what appeared. Loving Blade wasn’t difficult when every moment you breathed you were near him. 

You wear outfits perfectly fitted to your style sponsored by your self-proclaimed lover himself. Anything you want you’ll get. Jewels, clothing, books, anything you could ever desire. It’s nothing but pocket money for the Stellaron Hunter. 

Your mascara has been smudged after all the tears. Your sniffles fill up the room, you look at your palms. Hands covered in scratches and blisters from broken glass and accidental burns. You don’t have to worry though, Blade will patch it all up for you. This situation will fade into the past just like all the others. Your head peaks again at the dismembered and maimed body on the floor. You stop breathing yet again. You shut your eyes and open them once again when you feel a warm breath on your neck. 

It’s Blade, you can tell that the mara had warned off him. He tightens his arms around your body and somehow pulls you closer than he ever did before in your “relationship”. You blink once again as a tear rolls down your cheek and pray to any Aeon out there for help. Despite this, you're well aware it’s no use. There’s no place in the universe where Blade won’t find you. So you close your eyes to hum a broken chord as you prepare for the cycle to begin again.

•••

Sunday - Soulmates

WHAT’S PLAYING: Butch 4 Butch - Rio Romeo

Fairytale love stories where the prince and the princess lived happily ever after were something that you grew up with on your home planet. As you grew up though, “soulmates” left your mind. Other things like making credits and exploring the galaxies were more on your agenda than finding “true love”.

True love was a fairytale. Something that didn’t exist and that’s what you stood by ever since.

Ever since your planet was destroyed by its inhabitants. If people couldn’t love the homes they lived in how could they ever love one another?

You enjoyed travel, you enjoyed learning about other planets, cultures, and people. You didn’t have time for the nonexistent love. Though you enjoyed hearing the stories of it. You’ve met others who found their “soulmates”, their one and only blessed by the Aeons themselves. 

On your travel across the world, you stumbled on Penacony, The Planet of Dreams and Entertainment. The perfect and endless days are what brought you in the most. You could be there for days on end but turn out to only spend a couple of hours outside in the “real world”.

Real world huh?

You think you miss the real world a little bit. 

“Are the pastries not to your liking love?” Sunday inquires.

“They’re… fine.” You reply.

Sunday smiles. You don’t know what it means though. He smiles at everything, he smiles at gatherings, at your laughter, and even at the tears you desperately try to hold in. He thinks of you as something to be protected, something that should be kept safe in a cage, away from the tainted lies of others.

Everything feels uncomfortable, from the moment you met Sunday you felt an odd gravitational pull towards him. It was truly as if he was your soulmate. 

Except,

Something begged you to run away, something deep in the back of your soul. It all went away when you laid eyes on him though. 

You wish you listened to your fight AND flight response.

Everything you wear is coordinated by the Head of the Oak Family. From the tiniest detail to your entire personality. Sunday is a firm believer that only the true you can come out behind closed doors, with locks only he has access to. His mansion was the perfect enrichment for a now flightless bird like you. 

Perhaps the fairytales were somewhat true. The prince and the princess always seemed to stay forever together.

[mrsfancyferrari]

More Amor

Summary: you are going out with Carlos, you can speak his language, but you don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Song: Friends · Chase Atlantic

Taglist: @random-bouts-of-randomness

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 3.5k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the engines was a constant lullaby in the Formula 1 paddock, a song that vibrated through your very bones. You loved it here, the controlled chaos, the palpable energy, the feeling of being part of something larger than yourself.

Your focus, however, was often drawn to a specific corner of the Ferrari garage – where Carlos Sainz, with his disarming smile and effortless charm, held court.

You and Carlos were friends for a long time. You found him incredibly easy to talk to, his enthusiasm infectious. You liked Carlos, perhaps more than you should.

But there was also a barrier, subtle but ever-present, that you yourself had erected. It was a secret you carried, one that gnawed at you with each passing day: you spoke fluent Spanish, his native tongue.

You hadn't always been this secretive. Back in school, Spanish had been your favorite subject, a fascination with the language and culture that had blossomed into fluency. There was a time when you'd have proudly displayed your linguistic prowess, but a few harsh critiques in a university language class, comments that chipped away at your confidence, had left you hesitant.

Now, you kept your Spanish a closely guarded secret, especially in the presence of Carlos. The thought of him, a native speaker, judging your accent or vocabulary was enough to send shivers of anxiety down your spine.

This particular afternoon, you were tucked away in the hospitality area, a small respite from the frenetic pace of the paddock. Charles Leclerc, Carlos’s teammate and another friend, was perched opposite you, nursing a bottle of water.

He was in a lighter mood after a good practice session and was keen for a diversion.

“So,” he said, his French accent thick, “teach me some more Spanish. The last phrase you taught me was very… useful.” He grinned mischievously, a glint in his eye.

You laughed, remembering the rather informal phrase you had taught him the previous day. “Okay, okay,” you said, pulling out your notebook. “Let’s try something a little less… provocative.”

You flipped to a fresh page. “How about ‘Es un placer conocerte’ – ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you’?”

You broke it down for him, pronunciation and all, your voice a soft murmur that was just audible above the ambient noise. He repeated the phrase several times, his brow furrowed in concentration until he finally managed something that was, while not perfect, definitely understandable.

“Magnifique!” you exclaimed, giving him an approving nod. He grinned, pleased with his progress, and began repeating the phrase to himself, practicing the rhythm and inflection.

Just as he did, a familiar voice spoke behind you. “Que estan haciendo ustedes?”

You froze, a chilling feeling spreading from the base of your neck. It was Carlos, standing in the doorway, a curious smile playing on his lips.

The Spanish he’d spoken was casual, his words rolling off his tongue as naturally as breathing. What are you guys doing?

A wave of panic washed over you. It was close, too close. He had heard you speaking Spanish, even if it was with Charles. Your secret, the one you had painstakingly guarded, was on the verge of unraveling.

Charles, completely oblivious to the tension thrumming in the air, turned to face Carlos, his face beaming. “‘Es un placer conocerte,’” he announced proudly, his accent thick but understandable.

You cringed internally. Oh no, Charles, no.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Charles to you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Ah, I see. You're teaching Charles Spanish?"

You forced a smile, trying to appear casual. "Kind of," you said, your voice a little too high-pitched for your liking. "Just a few simple phrases for fun." You did not want to admit you'd been teaching him the basics.

Carlos crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he observed you and Charles. “Well, that’s good,” he said, his Spanish accent taking over his English slightly. “It’s always good to learn new languages.” He was still looking at you, a playful glint in his eyes that made your heart pound.

You nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, absolutely.” You picked up your notebook and began flipping through it, pretending to be engrossed with your notes as if you didn’t already know every word you'd already written.

"What else have you taught him?" Carlos asked, stepping further into the room.

You tensed, your heart thumping wildly. “Oh, just basic stuff,” you said, your voice tight. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. “You know, ‘hello,’ ‘goodbye,’ that sort of thing.” You hoped he didn’t see through your act.

Charles, bless his oblivious soul, was happily repeating the phrase he had learnt until it was as close to perfect as it could be. Carlos watched him, but his eyes were still on you.

He knew you were lying. He’d spoken to you in the past in Spanish and you had responded without so much as blinking. Why were you being like this?

“You sure?” he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips. He could see the panic in your eyes and the way your hands were clutching your notebook like a lifeline.

He looked at Charles again, and then back to you. “You speak a little Spanish?”

"No, I don't," you said quickly, a little too quickly. Your voice was far too high pitched. You hoped he didn't hear the fear that was leaking in your tone.

Carlos seemed to hesitate, his eyes scrutinizing yours for a moment longer. A subtle shift in his expression told you he knew you were lying, but he said nothing.

"Okay," he said finally, his tone still amused. "If you say so." He patted Charles on the shoulder. “Enjoy your lesson, Charles,” he said before turning and heading out of the room.

You breathed out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It had been too close. You watched him leave, your heart still beating fast. You were acutely aware that you needed to be more careful.

One more slip up like that and your secret wouldn’t be a secret anymore. You knew you should tell him, but your fear of not being good enough held you back.

Later that evening, while you were trying to text, a message popped up on your phone. It was from Carlos.

“Hey, you okay? You seemed a little… agitated earlier.”

You stared at the message, your mind swirling. He had noticed. Of course, he had. He was observant, perceptive. You hesitated before typing a response.

“Yeah, all good. Just a bit tired.”

He replied almost instantly. “Tired? Or hiding something? Maybe a secret language?”

You felt a jolt run through you. He was teasing you, playfully pushing at the edges of your lie. You took a deep breath and decided to deflect.

“Nah, just a very complicated article on tire degradation. Don’t let me keep you, you probably have more important things to do!”

A few seconds later, Carlos responded; “I always have time for you. By the way, you should try speaking more Spanish. It suits you.” He included a winking emoji in the text, leaving you completely frozen.

How did he know? You hadn’t said a single word in Spanish to him, apart from earlier when it was directed at Charles. He was definitely onto you.

Your heart started pounding in your chest. You didn’t know what to do. You finally replied with a simple “Night, Carlos” message and put your phone down.

You knew that sooner or later, you would have to face the truth. You liked Carlos, and you didn’t want to keep secrets from him. But the thought of that vulnerability, the risk of judgment, still held you captive.

You hoped one day you’d find enough courage to reveal your secret, to let Carlos in completely. But for now, you would keep your language locked behind a wall of fear, hoping that the wall would come tumbling down one day.

But for now, you had to keep up with the charade, and try not to let him see you were lying about knowing his native language.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The leather armchair cradles you like a familiar friend. Sunlight, filtered through the lace curtains, dances across the spines of Carlos’s bookshelves, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

You’re in his living room, a space that feels as comfortable as your own, except for the subtle undercurrent of nervous energy that always seems to hum beneath your skin when you’re here.

Carlos, with his easy laugh and eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, is the source of that familiar flutter in your chest.

He's gone to the market, a quick errand for the missing ingredient – ricotta cheese, if your shoddy Spanish comprehension served you correctly – needed for his legendary fluffy pancakes.

He'd called them “panqueques esponjosos” and the way his tongue rolled over the words had made your heart do a little tap dance.

You trace the rim of your teacup with your finger, the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway the only sound. You pull your phone from your pocket, a small smile playing on your lips.

A message from Sofia, a friend from Spain pops up. You haven't seen her since the end of your vacation and you miss her friendly banter. You hadn’t told her that you knew Carlos at first. She was thrilled when you had finally spoken about him and also excited the day you finally felt comfortable enough to speak Spanish to her.

You dial her number.

"Hola, mi amiga!" Sofia's voice crackles through the speaker, warm and vibrant as always.

"Hola, Sofia! Como estas?" you reply, feeling the familiar comfort of the language wash over you. The words flow easily, a melody you've secretly nurtured for months.

You and Sofia slip into a comfortable rhythm, gossiping about mutual friends, discussing the latest drama in her life, and laughing about inside jokes from class. You tell her about how you’ve been spending a lot of time with Carlos recently, describing the comfortable silence that settles between you, the way he always offers you the first cup of tea, and the lingering glances that sometimes catch you off guard.

She’s always encouraged you to take the leap with Carlos, but you've always been too afraid of ruining the comfortable friendship you had.

"¿Y qué tal, el chico que te gusta? ¿Como va con Carlos?" Sofia asks, her voice teasing. And how about the boy you like? How is it going with Carlos?

"He's...he's good," you stumble, a flush rising to your cheeks even though Sofia can't see you. "He's making pancakes later." You hope it doesn’t sound as silly as it feels.

You are so aware of your own internal dialogue.

"Ooh, panqueques! Sounds romantic," Sofia giggles. “Maybe he will be speaking Spanish to you soon” she winks, she is completely aware that he doesn’t know you can speak Spanish.

You have not told her about the pet name he has given you.

"Don't be silly," you say, though a small part of you desperately wishes she were right. "He calls me a few names, it's kinda silly,"

Sofia chuckles, “he likes names?"

"Yeah, Cariño." you say quietly. It’s a term of endearment that sits in your chest like a warm coal, always threatening to ignite a fire. you feel your cheeks burn a deeper shade of pink.

"Ay, ay, ay! Cariño! That means 'darling'! He definitely likes you," Sofia says, her voice filled with excitement.

You laugh, trying to downplay the significance. "It's just a word, Sofia." Even as you say the words you know it isn’t true.

You adore the way he says it, the way his voice softens slightly when he addresses you as ‘cariño’. It feels intimate, a secret language woven into your friendship.

"No, amiga, it's not just a word. It's a feeling," Sofia counters, her voice knowing.

You are about to reply when you hear a thud. A bag, probably groceries, hits the floor with a soft, muffled sound. You turn, your heart leaping into your throat, to see Carlos standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise.

His face, usually so open and inviting, is frozen in a state of shock. A second later he looks hurt.

His gaze is focused on you and he's holding the bag of groceries precariously in his hand as if he's forgotten that it is there. There's a strange mix of bewilderment and something else – hurt, maybe? – flickering in his eyes.

He stares at you, mouth slightly ajar, and no words are coming from him, which is so unlike Carlos to be lost for words.

You freeze, phone clutched in your hand, heart hammering against your ribs. The blood rushes to your ears and you suddenly feel as though you’re unable to breathe, feeling as though he’s looking at you differently.

The Spanish words, the comfortable rhythm of your conversation with Sofia, the comfortable feeling you had all but a moment ago evaporates into the air.

“Carlos…” you whisper, your voice sounding small and weak. You feel your cheeks burn and you can only imagine how red your face is.

He sets the other abag on the floor with a soft thud, the sound echoing in the suddenly charged silence. “You…you speak Spanish?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

The playful light in his eyes was gone, the crinkles that always appeared when he smiled did not appear this time.

You nod slowly, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. You feel sick at the thought of how he must feel, you should have told him. You should have shown him the real you sooner. “I do,” you managed to say.

You sat perched on the edge of Carlos's ridiculously plush sofa. Your heart was still thrumming a little too fast, admittedly by the man himself. Carlos.

He was pacing in front of you now. He ran a hand through his already tousled dark hair, the movement highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw.

“I still can’t believe you spoke it,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

You fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on the throw pillow next to you. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you mumbled, your gaze fixed on the intricate pattern.

The idea of speaking it, of letting it flow freely in front of anyone, especially him, had always filled you with a surprising amount of anxiety.

“Not a big deal?” He stopped pacing, planting his hands on his hips, his gaze finally locking with yours, a faint amusement dancing in his brown eyes.

“You mean the fact that you’ve been listening to me struggle through English for years, when you could have corrected me all this time, is ‘not a big deal’?”

A blush crept up your neck. You avoided his eyes again, feigning interest in the small water stain on the coffee table. “I… I wasn't correcting you on purpose.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. It melted the nervous knot in your stomach a little. He dropped down beside you on the sofa, the cushions giving way with a soft sigh.

He turned, his whole attention now focused on you. “So, why didn’t you? Why did you keep that amazing Spanish tucked away?”

You took a deep breath, the words tasting like lead in your mouth. “I guess… I wasn't confident enough,” you finally admitted, the admission feeling like a weight lifting off your chest, however slightly. “I wasn't sure about my accent. Or if I even sounded… right.”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, and his hand reached out to gently touch your arm, his fingers sending a jolt of warmth through your skin.

He’d always had a way of making even the simplest touch feel charged. “Mi amor, you are always right. Never doubt that. And your accent… it’s beautiful,”.

You finally looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any hint of sarcasm, but finding only genuine sincerity. The term of endearment was a fresh shock, and it sent little shivers down your spine. “You really think so?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, his thumb now tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Absolutely. It’s unique, and it's yours. It's part of what makes you, you." He leaned closer, his eyes boring into yours. "And I want to hear more of it.”

The air crackled, charged by the intensity of his gaze. You were acutely aware of the proximity between you, of the warmth emanating from his body, and the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

He'd managed to convince you to stay, the casual invitation coming after a day spent working with his team at the track. Your initial plan was always to return to your hotel, to maintain the comfortable distance that you had been living in.

But then you saw him, his hopeful expression and the puppy-dog pleading in his eyes and you found your resolve melting away. You told yourself it was the pull of shared language, the thrill of having someone that understood you; but deep down, you knew it was something far more profound and far more dangerous.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice a low, husky plea. “Speak more amor? Just a little bit.” His brown eyes, usually full of mischievousness, were now pools of earnest emotion.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat creeping up your face again. “What… what do you want me to say?” you asked, the Spanish words a little hesitant at first.

A wide grin stretched across his face. “Anything. Tell me about your day. Tell me you think I’m the best driver on the grid,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with humor.

You laughed, the sound light and airy in the quiet space. "You're arrogant, tonto," you said, the Spanish rolling off your tongue with more ease than you expected.

His grin widened. “But you like me, arrogant and best driver?” he challenged.

"Perhaps," you replied, playfully avoiding his question. "It was a long day. I spent most of the morning working from home. Then, I had lunch with..." You trailed off, momentarily forgetting the English word for the person you had lunch with during the day.

"Your coach?" Carlos suggested, his gaze unwavering.

"Yes! My coach. We discussed the race strategy and went over some notes," you continued, the Spanish flowing much more easily now.

You felt a strange sense of liberation, of finally letting go of the fear that had been holding you back.

He listened intently, his head tilted slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Every now and then, he would let out a small chuckle or offer a prompting question.

“And now?” he asked softly, interrupting you mid-sentence. “What are you going to do now?”

You glanced around his living room, its sleek lines and modern features a stark contrast to the cozy comfort of your small apartment.

"Now? I suppose... well, I guess I'm going to stay here." You held his gaze, each beat of your heart pounding in your chest.

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb softly stroking your skin. "You're perfect," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "You being here... it makes everything feel perfect."

You shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Carlos…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

He leaned in, his gaze locked on your lips making the moment feel charged with unspoken promises. “Just… say it, amor,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You closed the distance between you and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was everything you expected and far, far more. It was a melting pot of the connection you’d so desperately tried to suppress.

It was a declaration in a language both shared and unspoken. When you finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart pounding against your ribs.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “Tell me in Spanish,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky breath, finally letting the words flow freely, without reservation or fear. “Te quiero, Carlos,” you whispered, the words finally escaping your lips. I love you.

His response was immediate. His lips crashed against yours in another kiss, this one deeper, more passionate, and full of a raw, unfiltered emotion.

You pulled him closer, your arms wrapping around his neck, losing yourself in the moment, in him, in the magic of finally being understood, finally being heard, finally being loved in the most perfect language possible.

The fear, the insecurity you had carried for so long, seemed to dissolve, replaced by a dizzying rush of hope. You had found a home in his arms, in his eyes, and in the shared language that had brought you together.

And in that moment, in his arms, with the city twinkling outside the window, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were meant to be. . . .

[whaddayadothatfor]

Ctenizidae

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re an anomaly from another universe. You’re not dangerous though, so Miguel’s made the executive decision to keep you around until more dangerous criminals are caught and sent home first. Unless that’s not the only reason he’s decided to keep you around…

Content warnings: dub-con, voyeurism, masturbation, obsessive!Miguel

WC: ~1k

AN: Y’all this is so unedited but I wanted to write smut for this man so I did! If y’all like it I can post a second, smuttier part.

MDNI

“Here.” You drop a small plastic bin of chocolate chip cookies in front of Miguel. As a peace offering. No, really.

Miguel raises his right eyebrow in question. He doesn’t even answer you anymore. The other Spider-people go about their day in the cafeteria, having seen this scene time and time again.

Every day for the past two weeks since you were suddenly teleported to Nueva York and promptly labeled an anomaly, you’ve been practically begging Miguel to send you home. He’s declined every time.

This is pretty much how the conversation goes each time:

“Miguel, I think I should—“

“No. We have to send the most dangerous anomalies back to their universe first—“

“I’m dangerous! I’m plenty dangerous.”

“The only thing you’ve maimed, tortured, and killed in the past month is a flippin’ houseplant. You’re staying.”

You see how frustrating this man is?

So you’ve decided that maybe bribery— sorry, a peace offering— will work better. Hence, the cookies.

“Maybe if you eat something sweet you’ll stop being so bitter and stubborn all the time,” you smile tightly. “Then you’ll find it in your heart— the one that shrunk three sizes— to let me go home.”

“I appreciate the offering— though you could use some more creativity in your approach— but just know that these won’t get you home.” He pries open the container and lifts one to his mouth before moaning in delight. “These are delicious. Thank you,” he said, sucking the melted chocolate off of his thumb. His overly enthusiastic groans were clearly a tactic to piss you off, and it worked.

You simmer in anger as he smirks while chewing his cookie. You try to snatch the bin back, but he moves it out of your way.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says, pushing up from the small table he was sitting at and leaning down to whisper near your ear. “No take-backsies.”

He flustered you, and he knew it. He laughed as he walked away. You stuttered a retort in embarrassment, but he didn’t even have the decency to turn around.

“Ugh, I hate that guy,” you stomped in anger. You muttered several curses before you turned around to leave, only to see several wide-eyed Spideys staring at you in concern. This is why you wait until after you’re alone to throw a tantrum— it scares the locals. Whoops. “Uhh, carry on. My bad. Enjoy your lunch!”

You quickly walk away, feeling defeated. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve got nothing but time. You’ll catch him when he’s sleeping. He’s gotta be more amenable then.

Later

“You know, just for the record, I think you going to his room this late at night is a terrible idea,” Lyla warned as she flitted between standing and reclining with her arms crossed behind her neck.

“Well I think him keeping me here is a terrible idea. I guess we’re all full of them.”

“Seriously—“

“Lyla I don’t care! I’ve got a family to get back to. Friends, a life. I don’t care how fine that man is, I’m going back home. Tonight, preferably.”

“Whatever, it’s your funeral.” She acquiesced before disappearing into the ether, just as you arrived at his door.

“Wait, Lyla! Open the door.” Without a response, the door opened. “Thanks, Lyla.”

You walked in to the large room to see Miguel sitting up in a chair near the center of the room.

“Miguel, you need to listen to me—“

The sight that met you was so shocking you had to take it in one part at a time.

First, You see Miguel’s side profile as he faces the wall to the left of you. He’s breathing heavy, chest heaving as his hand vigorously moves up and down his— oh. Maybe you came at the wrong time.

With the sudden awkwardness that’s overtaken you, you look somewhere else, anywhere else, only to find the source of what he’s staring at— a video, no, porn. The second piece of the puzzle, you take in the video’s content. First, you just see flashes of skin and hear soft grunts and moans emanating from the screen. But then you realize, the voices sound familiar, really familiar. Then it hits you.

It is you.

And him. The both of you together. And that realization connects all the pieces of the puzzle together. He’s keeping you here, on purpose.

Your eyes dart back to Miguel, who has now abandoned his video in favor of the live view he has right in front of him. He’s shirtless but he still has some grey sweats on, pushed down just enough that he can jerk off. His hands move desperately over his cock, aborted grunts and breathy moans coming out sporadically.

He turned his head to the side, his cheeks flushed and his eyes narrowed with desire. You were frozen, stuck in time. Miguel kept stroking his cock while staring into your eyes. He did this right up until his orgasm overtook him, throwing his head back and jerking his hips upward as he called out your name.

His cum spurted out in waves, once, twice, three times. It was thick and opaque and made a mess all over his lower stomach. He sighed and sank back into his chair.

“Did you enjoy the show?” His voice is low and heady as he calls out to you. It takes you a moment to respond, because admittedly you’re still staring at his— well, his everything, dick included. Still It was a very, very nice, thick, veiny d—“Am I interrupting?”

His teasing knocks you out of your reverie.

“I-I should go.” You said. You’re starting to realize that Lyla might have been right. Maybe you should’ve waited until the morning. You start backing up to leave but Miguel shakes his head and the door shuts behind him.

“No, no, no. See, that’s your problem. You’re always trying to leave,” he chastises.

He stalks towards you, like you’re prey. You move backwards until your back hits the door. He reaches over you, placing an arm over your head and his index finger under your chin, lifting it upwards. He bends down, close enough that you can see even minute details of his face.

He narrows his eyes as he bares his fangs.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

[eudaimaniacs]

trying for one (hugh jackman x female reader)

summary: babysitting and playing with your niece made your husband, Hugh, think about starting a family. however, the conversation and idea of it makes you nervous, but Hugh's there to soothe your worries.

word count: 1.5k words

notes: i've been in a fluff and soft mood since the upcoming workload for my finals will definitely make me burnt out. so, don't expect some smut coming (unless inspiration strikes). enjoy!

“Can I play with you again, aunt [Y/N]?”

The joyful giggles of the little girl jumping on the carpet filled Hugh’s apartment. You get infected and chuckle at the wondrous excitement of your niece, Penelope. Her adorable plush, a brown teddy bear holding a heart, gets dragged on the ground by its feet. You playfully run after her as Penelope runs to the kitchen, still giggling.

“Uncle Hugh, Aunt [Y/N] is chasing me!” Penelope takes a glimpse behind and sees you slowly running towards her. She comes into contact with Hugh, who’s cooking dinner and baking some chocolate chip cookies for your niece to snack on later. Hugh laughs at Penelope’s energy and attempts to hide from you by holding onto his leg.

You tease Penelope and shriek, “You can’t hide away from me, Penny! I can still see you.” The little girl hugs Hugh’s leg tightly, with the teddy bear joining in. She playfully rubs her face as she closes her eyes. Hugh stops stirring the soup and looks down at the young girl.

“Don’t worry, Penny. You’re safe with me,” Hugh joins the game as he laughs at you, defeated that you can’t quickly grab your niece. Penelope’s grip on her uncle’s leg was firm and Hugh was equally too. You sit down on the floor and give a fake pout, signaling defeat. Hugh and Penelope burst out laughing at your expression. You put your hands up and sigh to your niece that you give up on chasing her. Also, dinner was starting soon, and you didn’t want a hyper child bothering you and Hugh.

You stand up and grab Penelope, who has now stopped hugging Hugh’s leg. Carrying her to the living room, you caress her hair and tell your niece how tired you are already. Her giggles filled the apartment again as she poked your cheek, teasing how you had given up already because of her uncle. Hugh’s eyes softened, and the sides of his lips creased as he saw the two of you cleaning up Penelope’s toys sprawled on the carpet. He admired how comfortable you were at babysitting your niece. It didn’t feel like a chore but, instead, an opportunity for the two of you to connect more. Having Hugh as Penelope’s uncle was an added benefit, as the three of you would roleplay as the X-Men. Your niece loved that the Wolverine was her uncle and was often excited when your older brother would ask you to take care of her.

The topic of starting a family with Hugh has come up several times; however, the schedules clashed, and there was no time to get pregnant without a film shooting, press tour, awarding, and any event getting in the way. In spite of that, you and Hugh wanted to raise children, and with you babysitting Penelope occasionally, your husband was more than eager to start it as soon as possible.

After a wondrous dinner with Penelope mimicking Hugh’s character by growling and her countless tales of boasting that her uncle is Wolverine and her aunt is a famous actress, you were glad that her eyes began fluttering. You dressed her in comfortable pajamas and waited for her to sleep soundly in the guest bedroom. The peaceful sight of your niece dreaming while hugging her teddy bear made your heartstrings tug. You wanted to start a life, a new chapter where you and Hugh would have some little mini me’s running and playing around the house.

You close the lights and the door, then make your way to the kitchen, where Hugh’s cleaning the dishes. The look of domestic life on your husband produced butterflies in your stomach. He was tender and hugged you every day, and your heart became warmer. Hugh was a complete package—he could cook and clean, had a great sense of humor, was a gentleman, and many more qualities that you couldn’t list off in a day. Having him as your husband was great, but him being the father of your children was beyond that.

You embrace Hugh from behind and kiss his shoulders, eliciting a surprised hum from him. You swayed and lightly sang some sweet-nothing as your husband washed the dishes. The lights of New York City sparkled in the dark blue sky; it looked like stars twinkling for the two of you. You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against Hugh’s broad back. You sighed and hugged him tighter, trying to find the words to start the conversation.

Hugh’s profound yet silky soft voice broke the silence, “Got something on your mind, darling?” Your throat seizes up as you are still nervous to bring up the topic. But what were you scared of? Hugh was comfortable with starting a family, and so were you, but the current schedules and the combined fame of the two of you could be the downfall of the marriage. You saw some of your famous friends getting divorced after having children, and the media dragged the story until they found a new one. You know your marriage with Hugh won’t end up like that; however, time can deteriorate the relationship and you don’t want your future children to be affected.

“A lot, actually, but don’t mind me, Hugh,” you whisper and lightly rub your face against his wool sweater. Hugh hummed at your answer as he took the towel to dry his arms. He turned around to see you looking down and lightly playing with your fingers. Hugh knew what you were precisely thinking, so he grabbed your hand and guided you to the living room. You rest your head on his shoulder, fussing with the blanket. Hugh wrapped his arm around your waist, smelling the floral scent of your hair.

“Is it about Penelope?” Hugh gently pressed the question, starting the family conversation. You look up, and your gaze softens as your eyes begin to water. Hugh softly grabbed your face and passionately kissed you. The taste of his lips and the way your tongues danced assured you that Hugh would listen and understand you. You broke the kiss and gently tickled his chin. Hugh’s arms were now rubbing your back, patiently waiting for your answer.

“Well, it’s almost about her. I just had a thought, and I hope you won’t be—”

“Is it about starting a family?” Hugh’s eyebrows raised as he finally asked the central question of the night. You nervously chuckle and avert your gaze away.

Hugh ran his fingers through your hair and softly whispered, “Don’t be scared of that, [Y/N]. I’ve always wanted to have children with you, and seeing you taking care of Penelope made me want it to happen faster.” You sighed and finally told your husband how scared you were to start a family with your careers and the fame that could kill your marriage. Your voice trembled at the thought of having a broken family, and the media and internet won’t ever let the two of you forget it.

Hugh waited for you to let out all of your emotions, and when you cried on his chest, he silenced and massaged your back. He made sure that all of your worries faded into the night. While he didn’t want the conversation about starting a family to make you cry, Hugh was happy that you brought up your fears instead of hiding them from him.

“We haven’t tried yet, [Y/N]. You don’t have to be scared. I’m always here for you, no matter what,” Hugh soothingly reassures you that his love for you won’t go away. You hugged him tighter as if he was going to be taken away from you. Hugh gently sang your favorite song as he kissed every spot that would cure your fears. Your heart followed the soft melodies he was singing and felt every light in the city guiding you to Hugh’s light again.

You looked up at your husband and wiped your tears with your shirt. Your tear-stricken face displays little hope as you ask, “Are we going to try right now?”

Hugh lightly chuckled and answered, “Of course, my darling. I want to start a family with you. However, I want you to be relaxed. I don’t want you to be scared and worried. Always remember that I will be here when we have our first child.”

You crack a little smile as Hugh continues to soothe every worried area of your body and soul. You sleep on his chest and dream of the day when the two of you finally tried having a child that would blossom into a beautiful family. Hugh carried you to the bedroom, akin to how you took Penelope’s sleeping figure, covered you with blankets, and hugged you tighter. His eyes softly gazed and prayed that your anxieties would be gone by the morning. The night sky took your darkest thoughts of starting a new chapter with Hugh, and as the sun broke, the hopeful idea of trying for one finally filled your heart.

eudaimaniacs - 2024