#i just love how you paint all these characters

[eggzeroni]

I love answering questions 1. You truly are a young prodigy. (I refuse to elaborate.) 2. Sherlock's 3. It's all going on in my head lmao- I kind of love it but I'm still waiting for my AO3 account to be made, I'm very excited. 4. Johnlock 5. John gaped at him. "You just solved a case, a murder, for God's sake, and you're bored?!" 6. Sherlock (not including names, my most used word is 'room'.) 7. Still exploring. STILL. 8. YP (Young Prodigy) 9. Slightly unclear, but the latest dates I have are 24th August 2024 - 2nd February 2025 10. Like... 4 weeks? I think? 11. My Enola Holmes Oneshots- 12. Younger sibling x sibling's best friend (by that I mean platonically and also I don't even know if that exists or if I just made it up lmao) 13. Sherlock (ofc :3)/ HL 14. I get inspiration from other writers cause there are so many amazing ones :3 15. STORMY! 16. My bed :') 17. I usually write a bit, edit a bit, repeat. Which I know is really bad but I can't help it. 18. I don't have the exact sentence but once I made a character speak when they were dead AND PUBLISHED IT- I had to make it so that the character was speaking in someone's mind because I was too lazy to go back and rewrite it- 19. If guns were a thing in the 1800s. Lead me down a rabbit hole. That era is actually really interesting. 20. 2024 :') I did write beforehand I just didn't know where I could publish. 21. isn't this question nine? 2024 though <3 22. I write for myself to look back on, so no, but then again I've never gotten a comment that wasn't from a loved one, so how can I be scared :') 23. Old, poetry, progressive 24. I just take breaks, look at other people's writing and get ideas. 25. I like drawing, reading, painting, digital art, poetry, history, philosophy and if I carried on it would be the length of an entire fic (lmao) 26. I can't concentrate with other people around, I have to kick them out my room. But I can write with music. Funny thing is I can't go back and edit it with music, so where's the sense there? 27. That climax point where your fingers just fly across the keyboard and even you can feel the adrenaline from the scene- 28. editing and planning. Currently the stage I'm at now with my ACTUAL book with my original characters. Bro I wanna write :') 29. Very easy. It takes me a few seconds. 30. here :3

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[meo-eiru]

God I am absolutely obsessed with the idea of Micah and a genuinely devoted/believer darling. Also, a potential AU with Micah and Lavi fighting over the same darling a la Exorcist. I would LOVE to see those two fight.

(TW NONCON - I got carried away. I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, I love your characters so much. This got me out of a writers block!)

She was overjoyed to join the convent, clutching all her worldly possessions in a little sack. Barefoot, more than a little nervous, conscious of her hatless state, she bowed and stuttered apologies to the nuns who assessed her. She’s a true believer, and standing with clasped hands and a tired, bright smile underneath the yawning stained glass windows feels like a dream come true. She’s unworthy, but she feels determined. Her past was a mess, a series of tragedies and mistakes, but as she stared up at the glints of sunset streaming through the lurid reds and greens of the glass, she felt hope, bubbling and unfamiliar, blooming in her chest.

Then Micah passed by, like an angel clad in priest's clothes, and her blood turned to ice. After being momentarily stunned by his statuesque beauty, the exquisite curve of his cheeks, the lush glint of the dying sunlight on his hair, she felt her stomach drop. Some ancient instinct was trying to warn her against his piercing gaze, some animal part of her reacted to the miniscule traces of raw, predatory interest he carefully schooled behind his smooth and calm smile. She stumbled back, automatically, and bowed her head as a nun chastised her. She spent the evening in her new room rebuking herself as she carefully laid out her uniform, tracing over the fabric in wonder. To act so rudely to the head priest, to have such impure thoughts, just what was she thinking? Her excitement was dampened – but just barely. This place would be the making of her, she was certain.

But then things became complicated.

She was a novice, yes, but somehow it struck her as odd how she always got assigned to clean Micah’s private quarters. She felt his eyes on her as she swept and scrubbed the floors. She could hardly admit to herself how drawn she was to his beauty, his deep, steady eyes, his lips like rose petals. She stole furtive glances at his profile as he bent over his desk, absorbed in his writing. She felt her heart flutter, task forgotten under her hands, and her expression would go slack with admiration. He was glorious in his crisp white robes, like a painting of the angels themselves. Then his eyes would snap to hers, and shame flooded her as she dropped her gaze. She must have had some wickedness in her heart, she berated herself to the sound of her own heartbeat, because she imagined there was a sensuous trace of mirth on those lips. Holy lips, she reminded herself harshly. She ducked her head and answered his warm, calm questions with short and stuttered replies. She didn’t see the way his eyes roamed over her body as she cleaned on her hands and knees, didn’t notice the way he adjusted his robes over his lap, the miniscule tightness in his voice.

Then, one night, with her shoulders hunched as she scrubbed the spotless floor, she became aware of Micah standing slowly. She didn’t look, but heard his swift footsteps cross the room behind her.

Then the heavy, sorrowful click of a lock.

She startled, whipped her head around, and found him staring down at her with an expression she had never seen before. It made every nerve in her scream with an urgency she had never experienced before. Dazed, she sat up, wiped her sopping hands hastily on a cloth, and hesitantly tried to summon her voice. How naive she was.

It ended with her own breathy moans echoing on the austere wooden panels of room, blind panic and pleasure mingling as he licked her neck. His fingers rolled her nipple, tugging gently, slow and torturous, as if to distract her from his other hand pumping in and out of her wet cunt. His hard, supple body was over hers, trapping her to his soft bed effortlessly. His skin was hot, almost feverish, where it met hers. The noises her body was making made her feel tense and weak all over, and all the while Micah’s steady, rich voice blew against the shell of her ear.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? All those soliticious looks. Hm? Go on, admit it.” He was breathing hard, and as he dragged her closer to yet another climax, her voice was choked and pitched as she tried to protest.

“N-no, I – this is wrong, ah-“ Her legs trembled uncontrollably, and his laughter was low and mocking on her skin.

“Admit it.” His voice was hard and brooked no room for argument. She shuddered as he gripped her hair, pulled it back roughly, her pleas dying on her lips. She swallowed hard, her voice meek and brimming with self-contempt.

“I want it,” She sniffled at last, guilt racking her body alongside white hot pleasure. She felt the tears rolling down her face, and she thought in a haze that she could feel his lips curling on her skin. "Ah-! I want it!"

The way he was also so remarkably calm afterwards, while she was a spent, shaking mess, fluids dribbling out and staining his white sheets. The way he would trace her face with his delicate, holy hands - she fought back the instinct to flinch - and the measured, reasonable cadence of his voice, as though nothing untoward had occured. It made her conviction wilt and falter, her head swimming with doubt. Guilt seemed to creep over her and seep into her bones. She felt the heavy weight of responsibility, and her eyes brimmed with fresh tears.

“We wouldn’t want the others to know about your corruptive tendencies, would we?” He said dryly, tracing circles on her back as he slowly closed his robes over his body again. “But don’t worry. I can help you, little flower.” When he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, she wondered in silent terror if it was all just a dream.

Tumblr is crazy because sometimes you'll find the most deliciously written scrumptious fanfic ever only to see it's from an anon. It's like an angel came down to bless you but you can't see their face because of the holy light surrounding them

Like my god anon this is so good I was melting. I desperately NEED Micah to pull my hair as he orders me to confess my dirty thoughts. The way he's the one who starts it, the way he just casually puts his clothes back on like nothing happened and the way he threatens you is just so...... This man is ruining my life and i'm so happy about it

Also something I personally love, since I haven't fully explained how the two of you met, you guys always come up with your own way of meeting him and it's always such a delight to see. I love reading all of them.

[tuyo-truly]

Remember that post about men love differently or smth like that??? the one is which the person's dad became a shoemaker because their grandmother was buried without shoes.

ya, let's talk about mxtx men

Jiang Cheng keeping wei wuxian's flute all this time. Lemme rephrase that, Jiang Cheng keeping wwx's flute POLISHED all this time. Jiang Cheng not believing wwx died and thus torturing any demonic cultivator he saw to make them confess that they are wwx? Like he just never processed his grief because in his head his silly powerful brother never died

Lan Wangji raising a whole ass child???? in remembrance of wwx??? I think no one ever actually admits in the novel how loved wwx was after all yk. like dude died alone, but the grief literally painted the blue gusu white.

Binghe keeping his Shizun's dead body???? i'm sorry?? Achilles and Patroculus much. next thing you know they are mingling their ashes.

And talk about ashes, *cracks fingers* our very own ghost king Hua Cheng! Bro died. Not once. Not twice. THRICE. without REGRET. He can do it again but is forbidden, but can do it again without HESISTATION. it's just tuesday for him at this point. He waited 800 years. Learned about everything to every exist incase he ever became the guy who helps the main character during quests to his God. He literally killed GODS???

And then last but not the least Your Highness Xie Lian. Anyone ever thought that his cultivator clothes are the only thing that he has that is left of xianle? The hat he carries aka the only love/humanity/hope he could find when was just about to give up. emphasis on FIND. because he consciously made that decision to wait. And don't get me started on Wu ming. Please don't, i'll cry. hualian is literally the embodiment of what healthy love looks like. (except the dying and torture ykiyk) the communication, the support, the sitting between hua cheng's thigh's to teach him calligraphy, the spiritual energy exchanges. i love them so much.

Oh, and there's also Shi wudu ruining he xuan's life so that his brother could ascend with him.

[meansevika]

— this fandom has a vast misogynoirist problem and, yes, this also applies to YOU reading this right now; a post filled w unsorted thoughts you should read if you genuinely want black fans to feel safe in fandom spaces with you

i am going to preface this right away w how disappointed i am in some of the people who follow me, who will occasionally like a post calling out misogynoir but only if its comfortable and only if its worded nicely and only if its against someone they dislike and not someone they do like. i am directly talking to my non-black followers because i do not expect black fans to expose themselves to this kind of hatred and thinly (and not so thinly) veiled racism we are faced w on a daily basis. some of you have a big following and a big portion of that following is white and YOU have the opportunity to use your POWER (and, yes, even in fandoms there are different power dynamics because logging onto twitter dot com does not remove the burden of blackness within overtly white spaces, this too is a space where having white privileges will get you places) and talk about these issues that have been becoming more and more prevalent.

our voices are not heard and when they are heard they get twisted by white and non-black fans who prioritize their love for shipping and their male centeredness over racism within fandom and more importantly: racism that is perpetuated by them. a very loud portion of this fandom has painted an image of "angry black women" without ever actually calling them black women because they are socially aware enough to know that it is racist to say so. instead they say it in different ways: they call us rabid, they call us delusional, they call us homophobic straights and love to strip us of our queerness in the same breath, they call us ableists even though this fandom has had several conversations about this, they call us aggressive, they say we are jealous of a mlm ship, they say we are irrational, they call us everything but the one thing we are: black. yet the painted picture is very clear to me and surely every other black person who has ever engaged dominantly white spaces: the big black bully! this is the easiest way to "aggressive black woman" your way through genuine critcism without ever saying it w those words nor acknowledging the thing you are criticized for.

and it becomes even more obvious when you read-over and over again-those attempts at demonizing an overtly black part of fandom (which mel/meljay fandom is and which i will come back to later) while NONE ever mention the things black people ARE saying because whenever you get ratioed for cuck art, whenever you get asked why you erase mel from the story, whenever people ask where mel is in arcane character group arts, whenever you mischaracterize mel for a mlm ship, whenever you strip her of her feelings, whenever you make her an abuser, whenever you dehuminaze her, whenever you deify her, whenever you cry that you cannot criticize her yet dont ever criticize her outside of that ship you so like, whenever any of this happens black fans HAVE and WILL tell you that this is antiblack, its misogynistic, but most of all-since a word for this phenomenon already exists-it is misogynoir. you are participating in misogynoir. your every like is supporting misogynoir. the active erasure of a black woman in fandom is misogynoir. whenever you strip black fans of their credibility to speak out against racism bc we are just "crazy shippers on an agenda", that is misogynoir too. people who arent in this fandom have been clocking this. they see us saying this. they avoid watching the show or engaging w this fandom because the misogynoir is so prevalent here and it is unchallenged by everyone but black people and a few allys who actually mean their shit when they talk about allyship.

the rest of you barely skim our texts or just go "well im not racist so this doesnt apply to me" instead of listening to us trying to explain what the issue is. you guys are so sure that you are a good ally, that you arent racist, that nothing you do is ever misogynoirist, yet you dont even realize that you dismiss or even silence black voices you dont like by villainizing every black fan who wants to talk about this and uplifting every black person who says the things you want to hear. to the point that a black user here can use the hard r and white people are trying to educate black people why that is okay or isnt okay. all while that person even apologized and had to tell you guys to not speak over black people in defense of them. do you not see that you are tokenizing the black voices you deem comfortable while ignoring every voice that asks for a little bit of accountability in your contribution to the horrid antiblackness on arcanetwt?

but, no, no, rest assured this doesnt just apply to the fans but to the character in question too after all there is a reason why meltwt/meljaytwt is so outspoken on this. it isnt about her partner being shipped w someone else, most of us dont even care for the ship, our issue is the constant attempt at erasing her from the relationship she was in and those are two completely different things even if you blatantly choose to look the other way and fabricate lies. mel medarda, despite always being spoken about as beautiful and complex and such a great character, so far even that people say they want her to leave jayce so they can have her for herself, has a very small following. she has less fics on ao3 than the others, barely any x reader ship despite so many people claiming to shipping themselves with her, she gets less solo art and even less w other people or her canonical ship. she is constantly being othered. just recently we had someone exclude her from group art and saying she was the teacher while her same aged peers were drawn as students. to many she simply doesnt exist and if you care about mel, if you actually do like her, if you seek out her content, this becomes abundantly clear real quick: mel does not exist as a main character to arcanetwt.

she is a side character to many of you. she is a side character like any other black women in fiction because you as fans were conditioned by young age to view black women as that. you are surrounded by the sassy black best friend, the angry black woman, the disposable black girlfriend who will always just be a temporary love interest, side character a and side character b - you grew up in a world where you view black women like that. that is why her fandom is so small. just like any other black female characters are small. no other main character gets this type of treatment other than her. and that her fandom is so small is just another indicator for that. and that it mostly consists of black fans is another indicator too because those very often are the only ones capable to see a black woman as a character in herself and not just a nice compliment in a sentence in between. this, too, is misogynoir btw and saying "well i just prefer this and this character" only works so many times before you gotta put the work in and question your racial bias and i am telling you YOU HAVE TO to OVERCOME that and i am telling you that because i too used to not care about black female characters.

i grew up in a very white society and was one of those kids who were trying to be as white as possible to cater to white ppl and i had to actively unlearn to ignore dark skinned women in any media and woah let me tell you once you do you realize there are so many beautiful characters to obsess over and so many new people to meet and it WILL change your view on a lot of things in fandom and it will make you AWARE and that is a good thing. you should be woke. being woke is a good thing no matter how many people say it isnt. its just nobody can do this for you but you yourself. you will see the mistreatment of fans and you will get angry about this and you will get uncomfortable too bc you might be nonblack you might even be white but that is just what it is and how its going to be and i appeal to you to be loud w us as well, to fight for a fandom space where white fans arent the only ones who get to enjoy sillies and whimsicals, where we can move and have fun w/o being confronted w unchallenged racism and people being too proud to work on their biases or even take any critcism, i beg you to not gaf about aesthetics and what you want your blog to look like and i beg you to not gaf about what your peers might think of you bc trust me you do not want to be the person belittling antiblackness for the sake of getting a few likes on an art piece where two people you like smooch.

this affects real black people even if arcanetwt wants to say we arent real or dont care about black issues. this is a black issue just like it'd be w any recreational activity

[valentine-cafe]

Happy new year, lovelies! Just popping in to order my usual strawberry shortcake! Thinking about tangling a hand in Rishen's hair and getting him on his knees, mayhaps with his hands tied so the pretty little thing can only take what's given to him. Dragging his head between his partner's thighs so he can suck them off, tugging on his hair just enough to see him tear up when he's allowed to pull off and get air in his lungs. Maybe he even got edged beforehand, so he's still an inch away from coming on the floor despite the fact that he knows he's going to get used later.

(And hey, if you feel like setting this in the same verse as the villain x hero scenario from a month ago, I would be much obliged. That line about the interrogation chair lives rent free in my head ( •̀ ω •́ )y )

-🍂

˖⁺. “ hate me, fuck me ” : 

﹙ top villain gn amab reader x bttm hero male ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 781 rishen x gn amab reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ hero ˖ spider-moth-mantis hybrid ˖ preppy nerd character ﹚

you manage to get your hero down on his knees and desperate. you just loovveee how pathetic you can get your rival. with teary eyes begging you to use him more

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ blowjob ˖ bondage ˖ choking ˖ some manhandling | wc : 0.5k

﹙ receipts ﹚: a pleasure as always! love our rishen bottoming agenda <3

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“C’mon Rishen, pretty baby, suck a little harder.”

The small sentence of encouragement earns a low whine from the pretty boy seated between your thighs, hands tied behind his back, the freedom of touch stripped away. Yet not much attention is paid any more to it other than the feel of your rough hand in his hair and your throbbing dick inside of his mouth.

“What. Is it because you didn’t get what you wanted before baby?” The quiet chuckle followed by a harsh tug to the back of his head, right where his curl end, causes your boyfriend to choke and his dick to twitch.

“pwe- mph— mgnhhhh.” No matter the attempt he tries to beg, it doesn’t take long before you’re getting swallowed down all over again.

His brows are furrowed beautifully, while his soft lips tighten around your shaft and his cheeks puff out just a bit every time you begin to rock your hips up against him.

The way your tip nudges against the silk slit at the back of his throat causes him to choke on both your cum and on his own saliva. Maroon hues rolled back into the back of his skull, while he tries his best to breathe through his nose.

A small rock of your hips is all it takes for him to web all over your cock. Causing you to tug his head upwards to yank it off of you while he swallows cum and silk.

Poor thing is panting so much you only assume his vision is swinging and blurring. So you grab him by his jaw and slowly tilt his head back to look up at you while you stand, his eyes focusing on your dick still. Which you pump until hot streaks of cum paints your boyfriend’s face.

“Y-you, mgnh . . . Please, jus’ want m-more.” Pretty please and doe eyes always got Rishen somewhere when it came to his other two boyfriends, yet with you it just wasn’t always the same. What does he recieve other than a smirk and a nipple tug.

“Lay down. And spread your legs. Solstice, I’m not done.”

Each sensation of their own crashes into his abdomen like the high tides of the sea when the moon comes around. The light leaving each and every moth bewitched at it’s light and shimmer.

Cum splurts out on the floor as he lays down, moaning out his small whimpers from the cold of the floor and the heavy petting from you.

“Whimpering like a camboy.”

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[amethystarachnid]

maybe a prequel to let you know how Tony and y/n ended up with four kids? 🤭, just wanna focus some more on the two of them before the kids

IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION???? OF COURSE YESSSSS!!!! 🥹😍 this family is so perfect!!!

CHRISTMAS MORNING - prequel

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: the story of how you and Tony ended up with four kids

ᯓ★ TW(s): some spicy scenes

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II | Part III

ᯓ★ Tony Taglist: @groovy-lady

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The private jet touches down in Paris just as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink, orange, and lavender. From your seat, you can already see the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance, its golden lights shimmering like a beacon. The sight takes your breath away, and Tony, seated next to you, notices immediately.

“Wait until you see it up close,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. “The Maldives were nice, but Paris… Paris is the city of love. It’s going to ruin you for every other place.”

“You’re the one ruining me,” you tease, turning to face him. “This is over the top, even for you. Who takes a honeymoon after the honeymoon?”

He grins, that classic Stark smirk that’s equal parts confidence and mischief. “I do. And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, but he’s not wrong. From the moment you said “I do” just a few weeks ago, Tony has made it his mission to ensure that your life together starts with nothing short of pure magic. First, there was the extravagant wedding, an intimate yet elegant affair with just the right mix of family, friends, and glamour. Then came the Maldives—a week of turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, and lazy mornings spent in each other’s arms.

And now Paris.

By the time you’re whisked away in a sleek black car to the hotel, the city’s energy is already wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Tony is at your side, his hand resting on your thigh as he points out landmarks through the window, his excitement almost boyish.

The car pulls up in front of a building so grand it looks like it was plucked from a dream. The Hôtel Plaza Athénée, with its iconic red awnings and ornate façade, is breathtaking. But it’s not until you step inside the suite that you truly understand the extent of Tony’s planning.

The room is enormous, with high ceilings, opulent chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer an uninterrupted view of the Eiffel Tower. A bottle of champagne sits chilling on the marble-topped bar, and a trail of rose petals leads from the entrance to the massive bed draped in silk sheets.

“Tony,” you breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

He watches you with a satisfied smile, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Too much?”

“It’s perfect,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. “Good. Because you deserve perfect.”

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. “You know, you’re setting the bar really high for the rest of our marriage.”

“Good,” he says, his lips brushing against yours. “Because I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

The next few hours pass in a blissful haze. You toast to your new life together with champagne, your glasses clinking softly as you sit on the plush sofa and watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance. Tony insists on feeding you strawberries dipped in chocolate, and you can’t help but laugh at his exaggerated attempts to be suave.

Eventually, the city outside calls to you, and you find yourselves wandering hand in hand through the streets of Paris. The air is cool but not cold, and the city feels alive in a way that’s almost tangible. You stop at a small café for espresso and pastries, and Tony spends the entire time gazing at you like you’re the most captivating thing in the world.

“Stop staring,” you say, trying to fight back a smile.

“Can’t help it,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I married a goddess.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his tone makes your cheeks flush.

The night ends back at the hotel, where Tony pulls you onto the balcony. The Eiffel Tower looms large before you, its lights casting a golden glow over the city. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“This,” he says softly, his breath warm against your ear. “This is exactly how I imagined it. You and me, in Paris, with the rest of the world fading into the background.”

You turn in his arms, your hands resting on his chest. “You’re such a romantic. I never would’ve guessed.”

He chuckles, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Your laughter is muffled by his kiss, slow and deep and filled with every unspoken promise you’ve made to each other.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of soft Parisian rain tapping against the windows. The room is still dim, the heavy curtains keeping the early light at bay. Tony is already awake, propped up on one elbow as he watches you with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stark,” he says, his voice husky with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply, your own smile matching his.

He leans down to kiss you, and you lose track of time, the rain outside becoming a soothing soundtrack to the soft, lazy morning you spend wrapped up in each other.

Eventually, hunger pulls you out of bed, and Tony insists on ordering room service. When the knock comes at the door, he’s shirtless and grinning as he wheels in a cart laden with croissants, fresh fruit, and enough coffee to keep you both buzzing for hours.

“Breakfast in bed,” he announces, setting the tray down on the bed between you. “Because I’m the perfect husband.”

“Perfect, huh?” you tease, taking a sip of coffee. “What happened to ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’?”

He smirks. “Retired the playboy title. I’ve upgraded to devoted husband.”

The day unfolds in a series of moments so perfect they feel almost unreal. You visit the Louvre, where Tony pretends to critique the art in exaggerated tones that have you laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You stroll along the Seine, stopping at little shops and buying ridiculous souvenirs, including a beret that Tony insists you wear for the rest of the day.

That evening, he surprises you with dinner at Le Jules Verne, the Michelin-starred restaurant inside the Eiffel Tower. The view is spectacular, but it’s the way Tony looks at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—that truly takes your breath away.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks, his voice low and sincere.

“Only about a hundred times,” you reply, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Not enough, then,” he says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

By the time you return to the hotel, Paris feels like it’s become a part of you—its magic, its beauty, and the love you’ve shared here all weaving themselves into the fabric of your story.

As you lie together in the dark, the Eiffel Tower’s lights casting a soft glow through the curtains, Tony pulls you close, his arms warm and strong around you.

“You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Someday, when we have kids, I’m going to tell them all about this trip.”

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “What are you going to tell them?”

“That it was the start of everything,” he says softly. “The moment I realized there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

Your heart swells at his words, and as you drift off to sleep, you know without a doubt that this is the beginning of a love story for the ages.

The days in Paris seem to blur together in a dreamlike haze, each one more romantic and enchanting than the last. Tony insists on showing you everything—whether it’s the iconic landmarks or the hidden gems only locals seem to know about. He pulls out all the stops, making sure every moment feels like something out of a fairytale.

One afternoon, you visit the Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre, climbing the steps hand in hand as the city sprawls out beneath you in all its beauty. Tony stops halfway up to pull you into his arms and kiss you, not caring about the crowd around you. When you reach the top, he wraps an arm around your waist and points out landmarks in the distance, his voice filled with excitement as if he’s seeing it all for the first time too.

“You see that?” he says, pointing to a small café nestled in a nearby street. “We’ll grab a coffee there before heading back. Locals swear by it.”

“You’ve done your homework,” you tease, leaning into him.

“Only the best for Mrs. Stark,” he replies, kissing your temple.

From there, the two of you wander through the cobbled streets of Montmartre, stopping to admire street art and musicians performing on the corners. You share a crepe from a tiny stand, laughing as Tony tries (and fails) to eat it without getting powdered sugar all over his shirt.

“Worth it,” he says, brushing the sugar off with a grin.

That evening, you stroll along the Seine as the sun sets, painting the water in golden hues. Tony takes you to a bookshop filled with ancient, leather-bound tomes and buys you a vintage copy of a French poetry collection, insisting that you read it to him later even though your French is rusty at best.

“You’ll butcher the pronunciation,” he jokes, tucking the book under his arm. “But it’ll still be sexy.”

The laughter, the stolen kisses, the endless affection—it’s all a reminder of how much you love each other and how lucky you are to have found this kind of happiness.

On your fifth day in Paris, you return to the hotel suite after a long day of exploring, expecting to collapse onto the bed and rest your aching feet. But the moment you step inside, you freeze.

The room has been transformed.

Dozens of candles flicker softly, their golden light casting a warm glow over the space. Flowers are everywhere—roses, peonies, and lilies arranged in elegant bouquets on every surface. A bottle of champagne sits chilling in an ice bucket next to two crystal flutes, and soft music plays from hidden speakers.

You turn to Tony, your eyes wide. “What’s all this?”

He smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Just thought we’d end our Paris trip with a little extra magic.”

“Tony…”

“You deserve it,” he says simply, stepping closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Every candle, every flower, every second of happiness—I want you to have it all.”

Your chest tightens with emotion as you lean into him. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, come on. Let’s toast to us.”

You sit together on the plush sofa, sipping champagne and letting the weight of the day melt away. Tony is as charming and witty as ever, making you laugh until your sides ache. But there’s also a softness to him tonight, a quiet vulnerability that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

As the champagne flows, the conversation grows quieter, more intimate. You talk about your future together, the life you’re building, the dreams you both have for the years to come.

“I can’t wait to see you as a dad,” you say softly, your head resting on his shoulder.

He chuckles, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “Oh, I’ll be the fun parent, no doubt about it. You’ll be the one who makes sure they eat their vegetables and do their homework.”

“And you’ll be the one teaching them how to hotwire a car,” you tease.

“Exactly,” he says with a grin. “We’ll balance each other out.”

The night stretches on, and as the candles burn lower, you find yourselves tangled together on the bed, the rest of the world fading away. Tony is all soft whispers and gentle touches, his love for you shining in every movement, every kiss.

The next two days pass in a blissful haze, though the knowledge that your time in Paris is coming to an end lingers in the back of your mind. You make the most of every moment, revisiting your favorite spots and indulging in one last round of pastries and wine.

Finally, the day comes when you have to leave. The flight back to Miami is bittersweet—you’re excited to return to the villa, but saying goodbye to Paris feels like leaving a piece of your heart behind.

As the plane takes off, Tony reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers. “We’ll come back,” he promises, his voice soft. “Maybe for an anniversary. Or just because. Paris will always be here for us.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, a contented smile on your lips. “I love you,” you whisper.

He turns to press a kiss to your hair. “I love you more.”

When you finally arrive back at the villa, the familiar warmth of home wraps around you like a comforting embrace. The memories of Paris stay with you, though, lingering in the air like the scent of roses and champagne.

And as you fall asleep that night, nestled in Tony’s arms, you can’t help but feel like this is just the beginning of a love story that will last a lifetime.

A month later, life in Miami has settled into a blissful rhythm. The villa feels alive with the love and laughter you and Tony share, the memories of Paris still fresh in your mind. You’ve spent the last few weeks unpacking souvenirs, teasing Tony for his over-the-top beret collection, and finding new ways to love each other in the quiet moments of daily life.

But lately, you’ve noticed something different. Subtle changes that make you stop and think. The fatigue you’ve been brushing off as jet lag doesn’t seem to fade, and you’ve had a few mornings where you’ve woken up feeling queasy. At first, you dismiss it—stress, the heat, maybe a stomach bug. But as the days pass, a quiet suspicion grows in the back of your mind.

It isn’t until one morning, when the smell of Tony’s coffee turns your stomach, that you realize you need answers.

With Tony busy in his workshop, you sneak out to the nearest pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test. The drive back feels surreal, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves. Once home, you lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at the little plastic stick as if it holds the key to your entire future.

And then it happens.

Two lines.

Your breath catches in your throat, and tears spring to your eyes as the realization washes over you. You’re pregnant.

The moment feels too big to contain, and you sit there for a while, holding the test and letting the joy sink in. When you finally compose yourself, your thoughts immediately turn to Tony. How will you tell him? He’s going to be thrilled—you know that much. But you want to make the moment as special as he’s made every moment for you.

An idea begins to form, and soon you’re rushing around the villa, gathering supplies and making calls. By the time Tony emerges from his workshop that evening, everything is ready.

He walks into the living room, his T-shirt smudged with grease and his hair a charming mess. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, glancing around. “What’s all this?”

The room is bathed in soft candlelight, with a trail of rose petals leading to the dining table. On the table sits a small box wrapped in gold paper, alongside a plate of Tony’s favorite dessert.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady as your heart races.

His eyebrows lift, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Another surprise? You’re spoiling me, Mrs. Stark.”

“Just sit,” you urge, gesturing to the chair.

He does as he’s told, his curiosity evident. “What’s the occasion?”

You smile, your hands trembling slightly as you hand him the box. “Open it and find out.”

He gives you a playful look but tears into the wrapping with childlike enthusiasm. Inside, he finds a tiny pair of baby booties—soft, white, and impossibly small. His hands freeze, and his eyes widen as he stares at the booties.

“Wait…” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at you, his expression a mixture of shock and awe. “Are you…?”

You nod, tears filling your eyes. “We’re having a baby, Tony.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to find the right words. And then he’s on his feet, pulling you into his arms with so much force you let out a surprised laugh.

“We’re having a baby,” he repeats, his voice full of wonder. “I’m going to be a dad?”

“You’re going to be a dad,” you confirm, your hands clutching the back of his shirt as he holds you close.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands framing your face. “You’re amazing. Do you know that? You’re absolutely amazing.”

You laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You had a little something to do with it.”

“Yeah, but you’re doing the hard part,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of you. He presses his hands gently to your stomach, even though it’s still flat. “Hey, little Stark. It’s your dad. Just wanted to say… I love you already.”

Your heart swells as you watch him, his usual bravado replaced by a tenderness that takes your breath away.

“Tony,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’m going to take care of you both. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m here.”

Over the next few days, Tony’s excitement only grows. He dives headfirst into research, ordering books on pregnancy and parenting, and even designing a state-of-the-art baby monitor. He starts asking you a million questions—Are you eating enough? Are you getting enough rest? Do you need anything?

One evening, you catch him talking to your belly again, his voice soft and full of love.

“So, here’s the deal,” he says, his hand resting gently on your stomach. “You’re going to have the best mom in the world. Seriously, she’s amazing. And me? Well, I’ll do my best not to embarrass you too much. But I can’t make any promises.”

You watch from the doorway, your heart melting at the sight.

“Are you giving our baby a pep talk?” you ask, stepping into the room.

Tony looks up, grinning. “Just getting a head start. Never too early to bond, right?”

You laugh, sitting beside him on the couch. “You’re going to be an incredible dad, you know that?”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Only because I have you by my side.”

As the weeks pass, the reality of your pregnancy begins to sink in. You and Tony start making plans—converting one of the spare rooms into a nursery, discussing baby names, and dreaming about the future.

One night, as you lie in bed together, Tony traces lazy patterns on your arm, his voice soft and thoughtful.

“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply, smiling. “What do you think?”

He grins. “If it’s a girl, she’s going to have me wrapped around her little finger from day one. And if it’s a boy… well, I’ll teach him everything I know about being a genius billionaire.”

You laugh, resting your head on his chest. “Either way, they’re going to be loved beyond measure.”

Tony presses a kiss to your hair. “That’s a guarantee.”

In the quiet moments like this, you feel the weight of your happiness, the love you share with Tony expanding to make room for the new life you’re creating together. And as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but think that this is the beginning of the greatest adventure yet.

The months of your pregnancy pass like a whirlwind, a beautiful blend of preparation, excitement, and moments of quiet connection between you and Tony. From the moment you told him the news, he’s been by your side for every step of the journey, making sure you feel loved, supported, and cared for in every possible way.

It starts with the nursery. One morning, Tony wakes you up with a mischievous grin and a blueprint in hand.

“Alright, future Stark,” he says, pointing to the paper. “Your nursery is going to be the coolest room in the house. Scratch that—the coolest room on the planet.”

You roll your eyes fondly, propping yourself up on the pillows. “Tony, it’s a baby, not a Stark Expo exhibit.”

“Details,” he says, waving a hand. “Look at this. Adjustable crib height. Temperature-controlled walls. And, of course, a soundproof system so I can build without waking the baby.”

“Let’s start with painting the walls,” you suggest, laughing.

He’s relentless in his enthusiasm, though, and over the weeks, you watch as the nursery transforms. The walls are painted in soft, neutral tones—gentle creams and grays, perfect for the baby whether it’s a boy or a girl. Tony can’t help but add some of his signature flair, installing a ceiling full of tiny twinkling lights to mimic the night sky.

“It’s so they’ll always have stars to look at,” he explains one night, pulling you into his arms as you both admire the room.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder.

The gender reveal happens a few months later, and true to your style, you decide to keep it intimate—just the two of you. You’ve both been careful to avoid finding out the baby’s sex during the ultrasounds, wanting to make the moment special.

One evening, you sit on the villa’s balcony, the ocean breeze ruffling your hair as the sun dips below the horizon. Tony has set up a simple cake with neutral frosting, and as he brings it over, you can’t help but feel a nervous excitement flutter in your chest.

“Are you ready?” he asks, holding the knife out to you.

You nod, your hand trembling slightly as you both cut into the cake together. As the first slice falls away, the inside reveals a soft pink color, and your breath catches in your throat.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, tears springing to your eyes.

Tony lets out a breathless laugh, pulling you into a tight hug. “We’re having a daughter.”

The rest of the evening is spent basking in the joy of the news. Tony pours a sparkling apple cider for the two of you, and you sit together under the stars, imagining what your little girl will be like.

“She’s going to be brilliant,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair. “Beautiful, like her mom. And probably a handful, like her dad.”

You laugh, placing a hand on your growing belly. “We’ll name her something strong. Something that fits her.”

Over the next few months, as your belly swells and your connection to the baby grows, the name “Cora” keeps coming up in conversation.

“It’s classic, but not too common,” you say one night, lying in bed as Tony traces lazy circles on your stomach.

“And it has a nice ring to it,” he agrees.

Eventually, it feels like the name was always meant for her. Cora Stark.

Tony talks to your belly every chance he gets, his voice soft and full of wonder.

“Hey, Cora,” he says one evening, resting his head on your bump. “It’s your dad. I can’t wait to meet you. Just so you know, you’ve already got me wrapped around your little finger. And your mom? She’s a superhero, so you’re in good hands.”

The sweetness of his words never fails to make you smile. He’s even more protective than usual, refusing to let you lift a finger. You catch him researching everything from the best prenatal vitamins to baby-proofing techniques, and his dedication warms your heart.

As your due date approaches, the anticipation becomes almost unbearable. The nursery is ready, filled with soft blankets, tiny clothes, and toys Tony couldn’t resist buying. You spend your days nesting, organizing and reorganizing the drawers, while Tony hovers nearby, insisting on carrying anything heavier than a feather.

Then, one warm evening, it happens.

You’re in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, when a sharp pain shoots through your abdomen. You freeze, your hand going to your belly as the knife clatters onto the counter.

“Tony,” you call out, your voice trembling.

He’s at your side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think… I think it’s time,” you say, clutching his arm as another contraction hits.

The next few hours are a blur of activity. Tony keeps his cool—barely—helping you to the car and driving to the hospital while simultaneously calling the doctor, Pepper, and every other person he thinks might need to know.

When you finally reach the delivery room, he’s by your side the entire time, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this,” he says, his voice steady even though his eyes are filled with emotion. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cries of your baby girl.

“She’s here,” Tony whispers, his voice breaking as the doctor places the tiny bundle in your arms.

You look down at her, tears streaming down your face as you take in her tiny features—the soft tuft of hair, the little fingers that curl around yours.

“She’s perfect,” you whisper, your voice full of awe.

Tony leans over, pressing a kiss to your forehead before gazing at his daughter with a look of pure adoration.

“Hi, Cora,” he says softly, his finger brushing her cheek. “I’m your dad. And I love you more than anything.”

In that moment, with Cora in your arms and Tony by your side, the world feels complete. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of is right here, wrapped in the love you share as a family. And as you hold your daughter close, you know this is only the beginning of a beautiful new chapter.

Bringing Cora home for the first time is a surreal experience. The nursery, once so pristine and untouched, now feels alive with her presence. You carry her into the house, cradled in your arms, while Tony hovers beside you, holding the diaper bag as if it contains fragile glass. He’s been unusually quiet since leaving the hospital, his eyes never leaving Cora’s tiny face.

When you step into the nursery, the soft twinkling lights on the ceiling cast a warm glow over the room. You place her in the crib, a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a pink blanket, and just stand there for a moment, your heart swelling with love.

“She’s really here,” you whisper, brushing a hand over her downy hair.

Tony leans over the crib, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. “She’s so small,” he murmurs. “How is she even real?”

“She’s half you,” you tease, looking up at him. “Of course she’s perfect.”

He smirks, though his voice softens as he says, “She’s more you. That’s why she’s perfect.”

From the very first night, it’s clear that Cora has Tony wrapped firmly around her tiny, delicate fingers. She lets out the smallest whimper, and Tony is already out of bed, rushing to her side.

“Tony,” you murmur sleepily, watching him through half-closed eyes as he leans over the crib, gently picking her up.

“She needs me,” he insists, rocking her gently in his arms.

“She’s probably just fussing in her sleep.”

He shakes his head, looking down at her with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “She needs her dad.”

And that’s how the nights go. While you’re the one feeding her, Tony is always right there, handing you bottles, adjusting her blanket, or just staring at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

By the end of the first week, you’re both running on very little sleep, but Tony seems to have developed a superhuman ability to function despite it. You, on the other hand, aren’t quite as lucky. One morning, you’re sitting on the couch with Cora in your arms, trying to keep your eyes open, when Tony appears with a tray of breakfast.

“Eat,” he commands, setting the tray in front of you. “I’ve got her.”

You blink up at him, too exhausted to argue. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he says, carefully scooping Cora into his arms.

You watch as he starts pacing the room, humming softly to her. It’s a completely different side of Tony than the one the world knows—the billionaire playboy, the genius inventor. Here, he’s just a dad, utterly devoted to his little girl.

Over the next few weeks, his devotion only deepens. He insists on being part of everything, from diaper changes to bath time. At first, he’s all thumbs, fumbling with the snaps on her onesies and nearly dropping a bottle during one of her feedings.

“You’re a genius, and you can’t figure out baby clothes?” you tease, watching as he wrestles with a stubborn button.

“Hey,” he shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “This is complicated engineering.”

But it doesn’t take long for him to get the hang of it. Soon, he’s a pro at changing diapers, even inventing a gadget to make the process faster.

“See?” he says proudly one afternoon, holding up the contraption. “Efficiency is key.”

“Tony,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Sometimes you just have to do things the old-fashioned way.”

“Not in this house,” he declares, grinning.

Cora, for her part, seems to adore her dad. She has a way of calming down the moment she’s in his arms, her tiny hand clutching his shirt or his finger. Tony takes every little coo and gurgle as a sign of her brilliance.

“She’s communicating,” he tells you one evening as she babbles happily in his lap.

“She’s just making baby noises,” you reply, amused.

“No, she’s trying to say something. I think she’s trying to say ‘Dad.’”

You raise an eyebrow. “Tony, she’s three weeks old.”

“Genius genes,” he counters, grinning.

Despite his confidence, there are moments when you catch him looking a little overwhelmed. One night, as you’re getting ready for bed, you find him sitting in the nursery, holding Cora close to his chest.

“Hey,” you say softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He looks up, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I just… I want to get everything right, you know? I don’t want to screw this up.”

“You won’t,” you assure him, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder. “You already love her more than anything. That’s what matters.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around both you and Cora. “She’s going to be amazing,” he murmurs. “Just like her mom.”

As the weeks turn into months, you start to settle into a routine. Cora’s personality begins to shine through—she’s curious, always wide-eyed and alert, and she has a smile that could light up the entire villa.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting in the living room, Tony pulls out a small black notebook and starts scribbling furiously.

“What are you doing?” you ask, cradling Cora in your arms.

“Baby Stark’s first invention ideas,” he says without looking up.

You laugh. “Tony, she’s not even sitting up yet.”

“Exactly. I’m getting ahead of the game.”

Moments like these make you realize how deeply in love you are—not just with Tony, but with the life you’ve built together. Watching him with Cora, seeing the way he lights up when she’s in the room, fills you with a sense of peace you’ve never known before.

And when Cora falls asleep at night, nestled in her crib under the twinkling lights, you and Tony steal moments for yourselves.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony wraps an arm around you and pulls you close.

“Can you believe we made her?” he asks, his voice soft with wonder.

You smile, resting your head on his chest. “It’s hard to believe sometimes. She’s so perfect.”

“She is,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. “And so are you.”

You fall asleep that night with his arms around you, your heart full of love for the little family you’ve created. It’s not always easy—there are sleepless nights and moments of exhaustion—but through it all, one thing remains constant: the love that binds you, Tony, and Cora together.

Cora as a toddler is an absolute whirlwind of energy and discovery, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s just beginning to babble actual words, and while most of them are jumbled sounds only you and Tony can interpret, she’s already mastered a few favorites: “Mama,” “Dada,” and, of course, “No.”

Tony is hopelessly, utterly smitten with her. If she had him wrapped around her finger as a newborn, she now has him tied up in a full bow, and he doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

One morning, you find him sprawled out on the nursery floor, Cora perched on his chest like she owns him. She’s giggling uncontrollably, her tiny hands patting his face as he makes exaggerated silly noises.

“Stark Industries meeting canceled, I assume?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe with a cup of coffee in hand.

Tony tilts his head to look at you, his face smeared with what looks suspiciously like mashed banana. “This is more important,” he declares, grinning. “I’m raising the next CEO.”

Cora claps her hands at the sound of his voice. “Dada!” she exclaims, the word coming out loud and clear.

“That’s right,” Tony says, beaming. “Say it again. Come on, kid, show your mom who your favorite is.”

You laugh, setting your coffee down and crossing the room to join them. “She loves us equally,” you point out, scooping Cora into your arms.

Cora doesn’t seem to care about the argument, instead turning her attention to your hair, which she grabs with surprising force.

“She’s got your strength,” Tony says, sitting up and brushing banana off his shirt.

“And your flair for chaos,” you counter, wincing as you gently pry her fingers away from your hair.

Despite her mischievous streak, Cora is endlessly sweet. She loves to hand you things—blocks, books, occasionally random objects she’s found on the floor—and say “Here!” in her high-pitched little voice. Tony, of course, takes every offering as a priceless treasure.

“Thank you, princess,” he says one afternoon when she toddles up to him with a crumpled napkin. He acts like she’s just handed him a gold bar, holding it up to the light and examining it with mock seriousness.

“Tony,” you say, laughing, “it’s trash.”

“Not to her, it’s not,” he says, slipping the napkin into his pocket as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Cora’s curiosity knows no bounds. She loves exploring every corner of the villa, her little feet pattering on the marble floors as she goes from room to room. Tony has taken it upon himself to baby-proof everything, but he still follows her around like a hawk, ready to scoop her up at the first sign of trouble.

One day, you find the two of them in Tony’s workshop, Cora sitting on the floor with a pile of colorful wires in front of her.

“Tony,” you say, raising an eyebrow, “is that… safe?”

“They’re not plugged into anything,” he assures you, crouching down next to her. “See? Harmless.”

Cora picks up a wire and holds it out to him. “Here!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, taking it with a grin. “You’re a natural.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. The two of them are thick as thieves, and it’s clear that Tony treasures every moment he spends with her.

Cora’s vocabulary grows quickly, and every new word is cause for celebration. When she says “love you” for the first time, you both nearly melt on the spot.

It happens one evening as you’re sitting on the couch, Cora snuggled between you with her favorite plush bunny clutched in her arms.

“Cora,” Tony says, leaning close to her, “do you know how much Dada loves you?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes, then tilts her head. “Love you!” she chirps.

You gasp, your hand flying to your mouth. “Did she just—?”

“She did,” Tony says, his voice thick with emotion. “She said it!”

“Love you!” Cora repeats, this time reaching out to pat his cheek.

Tony pulls her into his arms, holding her close as he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, princess,” he says softly.

Watching the two of them together fills you with a sense of joy that’s hard to put into words. Tony has always been larger than life, but with Cora, he’s different—softer, more grounded. He’s still the genius billionaire you fell in love with, but now he’s also a dad, and he takes that role just as seriously as he takes everything else in his life.

There are countless little moments that make your heart swell. Like the time Tony taught Cora to say “yes” by offering her cookies every time she got it right. Or the time he built her a tiny rideable car, complete with her name painted on the side.

“She’s one,” you pointed out as he presented the car to her. “She can barely walk, let alone drive.”

“Early start,” he said, unbothered.

And then there’s bedtime, which has become a ritual of its own. Tony insists on reading her a story every night, even when he’s exhausted from work. Cora’s favorite book is one about a bunny who goes on adventures, and she lights up every time Tony does the voices.

“One day, you’ll go on adventures too,” he tells her as he tucks her in. “But for now, your only job is to sleep and dream big, okay?”

“Dada,” she says sleepily, reaching out for him.

He stays by her side until she drifts off, his hand resting gently on her back.

Afterward, you find him standing in the nursery, looking down at her with a look of pure love on his face.

“She’s everything,” he says quietly, turning to you. “How did we get so lucky?”

You smile, wrapping your arms around him. “I ask myself that every day.”

Life with Cora is a constant adventure, filled with laughter, love, and moments of pure magic. And as you watch her grow, you can’t help but feel grateful for the beautiful family you’ve built together. Tony may have the world at his feet, but it’s clear that to him, Cora is his entire universe—and she always will be.

The first day of school for Cora feels like a milestone for both her and Tony. She’s five years old and practically vibrating with excitement, her tiny backpack filled with everything she carefully picked out for the occasion: pencils, crayons, and a little notebook with bunnies on the cover.

Tony, on the other hand, is vibrating with nerves.

“She’ll be fine,” you assure him for the tenth time that morning as Cora spins in circles by the door, already dressed in her new outfit.

“But what if she’s not?” Tony protests, watching her like she’s about to walk into battle. “What if some kid’s a jerk to her? Or what if she doesn’t like her teacher? Or—”

“Dada!” Cora calls, cutting off his spiral. “Let’s go!”

Tony sighs, giving you a helpless look. “She’s so little,” he says quietly.

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “She’s ready. And so are we.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he manages to pull himself together as you drive her to the school. When it’s finally time to say goodbye, Cora gives each of you a kiss on the cheek and marches into the building like she owns it.

“She’s going to be a CEO one day,” Tony mutters as he watches her go.

“Just like her dad,” you reply, smiling.

Time flies after that. Cora thrives at school, coming home every day with stories about her friends and the things she’s learned. Tony makes it a point to be there for every milestone, from her first science fair to her first school play, where she confidently announces to the entire audience that her dad “builds robots that save the world.”

By the time she’s ten, Cora is a perfect mix of you and Tony: sharp, curious, and endlessly confident. She has her dad’s knack for problem-solving and your steady kindness, and you couldn’t be prouder of the person she’s becoming.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at the little test in your hand, your heart racing. Two lines.

“Tony?” you call, your voice trembling slightly.

He appears in the doorway a moment later, his face immediately shifting to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You hold up the test, your lips curving into a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing the words. Then his face lights up, and he pulls you into his arms, laughing in that carefree way that makes your heart swell.

“We’re having another baby,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it.

Cora takes the news better than either of you expected. When you sit her down to tell her, she gasps, her eyes going wide.

“I’m going to be a big sister?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

“That’s right,” you say, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Are you ready for the job?”

She nods vigorously. “Yes! I’ll teach them everything I know!”

It’s not until the ultrasound that you discover the truth: you’re having twins.

Tony’s jaw drops when the doctor says the words, and for a moment, he’s uncharacteristically silent.

“Twins,” he finally says. “As in… two babies?”

“That’s usually what it means,” you tease, though you’re just as stunned as he is.

From that moment on, the chaos begins. Tony throws himself into preparing for the arrival of the twins, turning one of the spare rooms into a nursery with military precision. He builds matching cribs, installs baby monitors, and even designs a twin stroller that’s sleeker and more high-tech than anything on the market.

Cora, meanwhile, is fully invested in her role as a big sister. She helps you pick out baby clothes, suggesting everything from tiny bow ties to onesies with rocket ships on them.

“You know they’ll be babies, right?” you say one afternoon as she holds up a miniature suit.

“I know,” she replies confidently. “But they’ll grow into it.”

The day the twins are born is nothing short of extraordinary. You’ve never seen Tony more nervous—or more excited. When Alex and Howard finally arrive, tiny and perfect, Tony is instantly smitten. He holds each of them like they’re the most precious things in the world, his voice soft as he murmurs words of love and promises to protect them.

Cora is equally enchanted. She insists on being the first to hold them, her eyes wide as she cradles Alex in her arms.

“He’s so small,” she whispers, her voice filled with wonder.

“That’s because he’s a baby,” Tony says, smiling at her.

She rolls her eyes, already slipping into her role as the older sibling. “I know that, Dada.”

The first days at home are a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and sleepless nights. Tony is a natural, juggling the demands of two newborns with the same ease he handles billion-dollar deals. Cora does her best to help, fetching bottles and rocking the twins when they cry.

“They like me,” she says proudly one afternoon as she sits between their bassinets, singing softly.

“Of course they do,” you say, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re their big sister.”

Life with twins is chaotic, but it’s also filled with moments of pure joy. Like the way Tony lights up every time one of them coos or how Cora insists on reading them bedtime stories, even though they’re too young to understand the words.

“They’re going to be geniuses,” Tony declares one evening as he holds Alex in one arm and Howard in the other. “Just like their dad.”

“And their mom,” you add, smiling as you watch him with the boys.

Cora, sitting nearby with her favorite book, looks up and grins. “And their big sister!”

The event is one of Stark Industries’ annual galas, and this year, Tony insists on making it a full-family affair. It’s the first time you’ve attended one of these with the kids in tow—until now, events like this were reserved for just you and Tony while the children stayed home with their trusted nanny. But the twins are four now, and Tony seems to think they’re ready.

“They’re not ready,” you say as you adjust the hem of your dress, already picturing Alex and Howard tearing through the banquet hall like twin hurricanes.

“They’ll be fine,” Tony says with his signature confidence. He’s seated on the edge of the bed, fixing his cufflinks. “It’s good PR. The Stark family, united. The kids will charm everyone.”

“Howard bit Alex yesterday because he didn’t want to share a crayon,” you remind him.

Tony waves you off. “It’s a gala, not an art class. No crayons, no problem.”

Meanwhile, Cora, now 14 and perpetually exasperated by her younger brothers, is leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. She’s dressed in a sleek black dress that makes her look far older than she is, her hair pulled back in a way that Tony has already called “unnecessarily mature” twice.

“They’re going to ruin it,” she says, crossing her arms.

“You’re not helping,” you tell her with a pointed look.

“Hey, I’m just saying,” she replies, smirking.

Getting everyone ready for the event is an ordeal in itself. The twins are surprisingly cooperative during bath time, but when it comes to getting dressed, it’s chaos. Howard refuses to wear the tiny bow tie you picked out for him, while Alex insists on wearing mismatched socks.

“You can’t see the socks under his shoes,” Tony says, clearly taking Alex’s side as he kneels down to help him into his little suit jacket.

“It’s not about the socks,” you reply, exasperated. “It’s about setting a tone. If we let them win now, they’ll think they can get away with anything.”

“They already think that,” Cora mutters under her breath, earning a sharp glance from you.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle everyone into their outfits. The twins look adorable despite their protests, and Cora looks effortlessly elegant in a way that makes you realize just how quickly she’s growing up.

“Alright, team,” Tony says as you all pile into the car. “Here’s the plan: we walk in, smile, mingle, and don’t touch anything breakable. Got it?”

“Got it,” Alex says, but you can already see the mischievous glint in his eyes.

The gala is held at a luxurious hotel downtown, the kind of place with chandeliers that probably cost more than your car. As you step into the grand hall, you’re immediately greeted by a sea of familiar faces—board members, investors, and socialites, all eager to shake Tony’s hand and coo over the children.

Cora stays close to your side, her expression polite but bored. The twins, on the other hand, are a bundle of energy, bouncing between you and Tony as they take in the glittering surroundings.

“Look at the big lights!” Alex exclaims, pointing at the chandelier above.

“Don’t climb it,” you say automatically, earning a laugh from Tony.

The first hour goes surprisingly well. The twins stick close, charmed by the endless parade of hors d’oeuvres and the fact that everyone keeps calling them “little gentlemen.” Howard even manages to say “thank you” without prompting when a waiter hands him a tiny plate of macarons, and you catch Tony beaming with pride.

But then the novelty starts to wear off.

“I’m bored,” Alex announces, tugging on Tony’s jacket.

“Me too,” Howard adds, his voice edging toward a whine.

“Okay,” you say, crouching down to their level. “What if we play a game? You two are spies, and your mission is to stay as quiet and sneaky as possible. Can you do that?”

They nod enthusiastically, though you’re not entirely convinced.

Meanwhile, Cora has found a corner to sit in, her phone in hand.

“Cora,” Tony says, frowning. “You’re at a gala, not a texting marathon. Put the phone away.”

She rolls her eyes but complies, slipping the phone into her clutch. “Fine. But if they break something, it’s not my fault.”

It doesn’t take long for the twins to push the boundaries of their “spy mission.” You catch Alex attempting to sneak a second macaron off a waiter’s tray, and Howard is dangerously close to climbing onto the stage where the band is playing.

“Alright,” Tony says, swooping in to scoop Howard up before he can make it past the first step. “Time for a Stark family meeting.”

He gathers everyone in a quiet corner, crouching down to look the twins in the eye. “Listen, guys, I know this isn’t as exciting as, say, Disneyland, but this is important to your mom and me. Can you stick with us for a little longer?”

“Okay, Dada,” Howard says, his small voice earnest.

Tony ruffles his hair. “That’s my boy.”

The evening continues with only minor hiccups. Alex spills a glass of water on a chair, and Howard tries to play hide-and-seek under one of the tables, but overall, it’s manageable. Cora even manages to crack a smile when one of Tony’s colleagues tells her she looks just like him.

“Poor kid,” Tony says later, his voice low as he leans toward you.

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

By the time the event starts winding down, the twins are visibly tired, their earlier mischief replaced by yawns and sleepy eyes. Cora looks ready to leave too, though she’s done an admirable job of keeping her brothers in check.

As you gather your things and prepare to head out, Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“See?” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We survived.”

“Barely,” you reply, though you can’t help but smile.

On the drive home, Alex and Howard fall asleep almost immediately, their heads resting against each other. Cora sits quietly, her phone back in hand but her expression content.

Tony looks over at you, his eyes soft. “We did good, didn’t we?”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Yeah, we did.”

As chaotic as the evening was, it’s moments like these—together as a family—that make it all worthwhile.

The night Estelle is conceived feels like something out of a rom-com that turns unexpectedly steamy. Cora is 16 and fully immersed in her own teenage world, juggling her social life, school, and extracurriculars like a pro. The twins, at six years old, are finally at a stage where they’re not constantly climbing the furniture or attempting to build rocket ships out of household appliances.

That night, the twins are having a rare sleepover at a friend’s house, and Cora has locked herself in her room with her homework and noise-canceling headphones. The house feels unusually quiet—peaceful, even—which is an anomaly in the Stark household.

Tony takes full advantage of it.

You’re in the kitchen, finishing the dishes after dinner, when Tony sneaks up behind you. His hands slide around your waist, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“What are you doing?” you ask, though you’re already smiling.

“Enjoying the silence,” he murmurs, his lips trailing along your skin. “And my incredibly hot wife.”

You laugh, swatting at him with the dish towel. “Tony, I’m doing dishes.”

“They’ll be here tomorrow,” he says, turning you around to face him. There’s that mischievous glint in his eyes, the one that still makes your heart skip a beat after all these years. “But this moment? It’s fleeting.”

Before you can respond, he picks you up and carries you—dish towel and all—upstairs to your bedroom, where the evening takes a decidedly romantic turn.

A few weeks later, you start noticing the signs. You’re more tired than usual, food smells are suddenly a little too strong, and Tony catches you crying over a commercial for baby diapers.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned, as you wipe at your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you say, though the realization is starting to dawn on you.

The next morning, you take a pregnancy test. And then a second. And a third, just to be sure.

“Holy crap,” you whisper, staring at the two pink lines.

You decide to tell Tony that evening. He’s tinkering in his workshop when you walk in, holding a tiny pair of baby socks you picked up earlier that day.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking up from his project.

“You’re going to be a dad again,” you say softly, holding out the socks.

Tony’s reaction is immediate—he stands so quickly that his chair nearly topples over. “Wait, are you serious?”

You nod, tears in your eyes.

His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh my God,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “We’re having another baby?”

“Yes,” you laugh, overwhelmed by his enthusiasm.

He drops to his knees in front of you, pressing his hands gently to your stomach—even though there’s no bump yet. “Hey, little one,” he says softly. “It’s me, your dad. You’re going to love it here, I promise. Just wait until you meet your mom—she’s the best.”

When you tell the kids, their reactions are predictably chaotic.

Cora is thrilled. At 16, she’s mature enough to appreciate the idea of a new sibling without feeling jealous. “Oh my God, another one?” she says, laughing. “Are you guys trying to build a basketball team or something?”

The twins, however, are a different story.

“What?” Alex says, his eyes wide. “A baby?”

“Where’s it gonna sleep?” Howard demands. “In our room?”

You kneel down in front of them, trying to explain. “The baby will have its own room, just like you guys do. And you’ll still have plenty of time with me and Daddy.”

“But babies cry,” Alex points out, looking skeptical.

“And poop,” Howard adds, wrinkling his nose.

Tony steps in, crouching down beside you. “True,” he says, nodding seriously. “But babies also think their big brothers are the coolest people on the planet. This baby is going to look up to you two like superheroes.”

That seems to win them over—at least for now.

As the months go by, the pregnancy becomes a family affair. The twins take their role as big brothers-in-training very seriously, often offering to help carry things or pat your belly to “say hi to the baby.” Cora is your right-hand girl, stepping in to help whenever the boys get too rowdy or you need a moment to yourself.

The gender reveal is a quiet, intimate moment at home. You and Tony decide to keep it simple, opting for a cake that reveals the gender when you cut into it.

When the knife slices through the frosting and you see pink inside, you both freeze.

“A girl,” Tony says, his voice soft with wonder.

“A girl,” you repeat, tears welling up.

The twins cheer because cake is involved, and Cora just smirks. “Called it,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Cora,” Tony says later that evening, as the two of you are lying in bed. “What do you think of the name Cora?”

“What?” you ask, laughing.

“Just kidding,” he says, grinning. “But seriously, do we have a name yet?”

It takes weeks of brainstorming, vetoing each other’s suggestions, and poring over baby name books, but eventually, you both land on a name you love: Estelle.

“It means star,” Tony says one night as he presses a hand to your now-round belly. “And that’s what she’ll be. Our little star.”

The day Estelle is born is as chaotic and beautiful as you’d expect. Tony is a nervous wreck during labor, pacing the room and muttering to himself about whether the hospital’s equipment is up to Stark standards.

But the moment he holds her for the first time, everything shifts.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion as he looks down at the tiny bundle in his arms.

When the kids come to visit the hospital, Cora is smitten immediately, cooing over Estelle like a proud big sister. The twins, however, are a bit more cautious.

“She’s so small,” Alex whispers, peering at her from a safe distance.

“Can we keep her?” Howard asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“Definitely,” Tony says, grinning.

Bringing Estelle home is a new kind of adventure. The twins are constantly vying for a turn to hold her, Cora is your go-to babysitter when you need a break, and Tony is completely wrapped around her tiny finger from day one.

“She’s our last, right?” you ask one night as you watch him rock her to sleep.

“Definitely,” he says, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

You give him a look, and he laughs softly. “Alright, alright. She’s our last. I’m good with this chaos level.”

And as you sit there, surrounded by the beautiful, chaotic family you’ve built together, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world.

[kosmicthen]

i gotta tell you the thought process of the creation AND the Funny Haha Struggle story (not that funny but it is funny to me now) during the time i was working on this (2nd week of december 2024)

the inspiration/thought process notes:

obviously demonyawa’s jake and maria official illustrations for the spotify single versions of memories and titua

i was binging blue period at the time

listening to bawat piyesa by munimuni on loop — an opm song about grief and not knowing what to do without the person who is gone

and i thought of this famous art trope where character paints their loved one? i’m not sure where it originated but it could also be character carves a statue of loved one too— a bunch of the cool cn/jpn/kr artists keep cooking that prompt up but atm i CANNOT think of the specific i can share

so painting side is different soft coloring style than the foreground (mark/nicole) who are lined and more refined yay yippee cool im insane like that

now to tell you what happened to me during the creation of these:

when i finished sketches for both parts and jake’s coloring, i got really dizzy and nauseous!!! not a good sign!! i was talking to a friend in the ph but i said im hopping off call bc of dizziness

i thought that i was staring at the screen too long cause i was working with really saturated colors so i stepped away till i was yk better. i struggle with motion sickness too btw so i assumed this was my brain making me motion sick

guys. i. didnt feel better. APPARENTLY I WAS STRUCK BY THE ILLNESS. like i was physically sick the next 48 hrs. i find out ive got some stomach virus bc the ppl i lived with had it too. IT WAS SO BAD. i couldn’t eat bc it would immediately get out of my system (trying not to describe it grossly), but i couldn’t sleep bc i was so hungry…!! it was so bad its sooo laughable!! i only had like 2 hrs of sleep bc of my hunger meter was KILLING ME

and the funniest thing to me. listen.. i… i had another until then idea on the works before i worked on this “bawat piyesa” mark and nic pieces— and you know what that was? MARK BORJA SICK FIC/COMIC 😭😭😭 i make this LOSER SICK WITH THE HORROR OF A FEVER AND HE TRANSFERRED IT TO MEEEEEEEE WITH HIS MIND?!?!?

AND I HAD COLLEGE FINALS THE NEXT DAY?!?!?? IT WAS SOOO OVER!?!?!

there was nothing i could do abt it except take meds, sleep a bit, and eat nothing but soup and white bread and apples,, but i also had to be on this waiting period for the final online exam for my class to unlock 😭😭 so in the middle of all of that, i just started working on the bawat piyesa pieces when i didnt feel dizzy.

so yeah I HAVE NOOOO IDEA how i powered through all that. but i hope that you guys know now that these pieces were made through resilience. i am just so happy these artworks were so well received, and i still made it the vision that i wanted

i cooked at A Cost, but at least, I Made Peak

but also don’t neglect your health!! i could have never made it through if i just ignored the sickness. i never want to be that hungry ever again 😭😭

anong gagawin kung wala ka? dito ka na lang habambuhay.

version that only has maria and jake

[beelanddiavolosimp-blog]

Pls pls pls write more for ur mc!!! Those headcanons were js 😩🙏🙏

Of course of course 😁

My MC headcanons

She is a switch but has many insecurities about her body but once that boundary is broken she is definitely hypersexual. A big(not) problem for the entire characters.

Lucifer

With Lucifer she loves being dominated by him. She will feed into his sadistic tendencies and allow him to practically bully her into submission. But! She often breaks him. She feels a surge of power when making Lucifer beg and he looks oh so pretty when he does so she often makes him beg wether its to fuck her, eat her out or even touch her.

Mammon

With Mammon she love LOVES teasing him. Not in a bully way a 'god you're so cute I want to fuck you' type of way. She is more handsy with him since she feels the most comfortable with him. He practically worships the ground she walks on so she isn't too scared he will find her disgusting like she does. By handsy she is full on tracing his abs, arms, back, boxers. Literally whatever she feels like doing and she enjoys watching his skin get goosebumps and see his cock slowly spring to life and then just disappear.

Levi

With Levi she is mostly a dom. She loves how pathetic he looks when begging or stuttering. She also doesn't feel as insecure with him either since he is even more insecure than her so she mostly focuses on making him feel better. A good distraction! She loves making him flush red in front of people saying the most outlandish things randomly like 'he may not look it but he is big' and leave no context to it. She also is very handsy with him but in a more gentle way. She will make him bend down (since she is short) and cup his face and play with his hair that she finds severely pretty. She will also make use of his love for her thighs making him sit in her lap and if she is feeling especially spicy she will wrap her thighs around his head and squeeze them randomly just to listen to whines.

Satan

With Satan it seems as if they never fuck at all. They are always comfortably cuddling or discussing a nice book they both enjoyed. It's all a play to what they really do. She loves voyeurism a lot and Satan enjoys pissing Lucifer off so they often fuck in places where Lucifer is near or where he will be. They get very aggressive with each other with her scratching down every part of him she can reach loving the red on his skin and him leaving bruises behind on her body from holding her down or getting too lost into the moment. He is one of the first people to choke her and her be okay with it. They have their own little thing with skirts and thigh highs.

Asmos

With asmos she sees him more of a friend so nothing sexual happens between them. All wholesome and funny for them.

Beel

Oh boy. She has a HUGE thing for himbos. Once she met beel she could not get over him. She admired him everyday and it was severely wholesome. She has a deep love for his smile and even more for his laugh. His eyes are something she will paint/draw over and over again. But this isn't wholesome time here. She constantly craves him. So much so that even asmos says she reeks of his sin when around Beel. She is shameless in watching his muscles wether it be him coming out of the shower wiping his face of sweat after a game or even him just stretching and a little bit of skin peeks out she is BRICKED. Hell even his voice gets to her. Once she breaks it to him she is practically in love and obsessed with him he is on cloud nine. He loves how much she wants him makes him feel very special. Now she isn't the greatest at head but she does have a tongue piercing she puts to use. She will lick over other parts of his body while she jacks him off. She is the one who leaves bite marks and bruises on his body practically worshiping him. When he does really anything to her she is LOUD. She also cums the fastest with him because well she loves him. It's not uncommon for beel to be covered in her scent and marks the brothers are severely jealous of this.

Belphie

With belphie it's like fucking your guy friend. She and him bully each other playfully back and forth. Yet their eyes hold a deep lust for one another. She is actually quite into somnophilia and oh boy does belphie love this. Not many of the brothers even know they do fuck since it is when they are asleep together. They do the most risky things like her cockwarming him on the couch with the brothers around but it only seems like belphie is sleeping and resting his head on her shoulder. When in reality she is gripping his hair panting softly as he is as well. They are the ones that fool around the most at school. Janitors closets hate to see them coming. She also is into him choking her and well just his hands in general. She does have to let him know she isn't afraid of him y'know...from past uh...events.

I hope this is what you meant or enjoyed. We are freaky in this house. Should I do the side characters now?🤔

[theoi-crow]

Hey, it may be looking a little bleak out there and you may need your gods to be with you now more than ever.

If you are coming from a place where being open about worshipping your gods is frowned upon or outright dangerous, but you need to say their names out loud to feel like they're around, here's a survival tip:

Tell everyone around you, you're a huge fan of Greek mythology.

Greek mythology content is everywhere right now!

There's video games like Hades and Fenyx Rising, movies like Disney's Hercules, so many shows and cartoons like Kaos and Blood of Zeus, Percy Jackson and let's not forget the Broadway musical: Hadestown! Plus a lot of neo classical paintings and their statues are everywhere!

Be obnoxious about your love for them every time you need your god to be mentioned in order to bring you comfort, and if they get mad because you won't stop talking about your gods just insist you are obsessed with Greek mythology right now, which is totally believable because their content is everywhere! You can even surround yourself with their content if it'll help you feel safer.

It's okay if you can't give them the kind of altar you wish to give them right now because you literally can't! I grew up in a very religious household so my altar was in a sketchbook! You can grab the media version of your favorite god and wear them on a shirt. If they ask you to say grace at the dinner table and you have to verbally pray to a god you don't believe in just mentally tell your god anything you say about that god is dedicated to them. If you have to go to a religious building remember that the Romans conflated their Roman gods with Christian figures all the time so the figures you're looking at are a mishmash of a bunch of gods mixed together. So, while you're in that building go ahead and pray to your gods the whole time you're there. Even if it's not a Christian building because no one can hear your thoughts or police them, go ahead and meditate with your gods whenever you enter a religious building.

The gods won't be offended, this is how their old devotees used to do it during the dark ages and medieval period since not going to church was punishable by death. They also claimed to be really into Greek mythology and praised the Christian God while secretly praying to the Greek gods.

Your gods won't think it's rude.

They've had devotees in the past who have had to hide, and there are Greek people living in modern Greece today who still have to hide their worship of them so they get it.

And don't worry about the more uptight worshippers who judge others for things that have nothing to do with them and get especially angry about treating the Greek gods like it's a fandom. Your form of worship is between you and your gods and this is a survival tactic that's been used for hundreds to thousands of years. This is a tactic that was literally the difference between life or death. This is why the gods don't care if you publicly treat them like characters or like Greek mythology is a fandom. You're not the first devotee who has had to do this and unfortunately, you won't be the last.

On the flip side, no one around you will think you're weird for saying you're really into Greek mythology because look around you, they are all over the place! Greek mythology content is EVERYWHERE:

Let that work in your favor.

[petrenocka]

I haven't even opened Ultrakill for what feels like a life but was probably just half a year.

But the Violence layers still isn't letting me go.

It's so sad. And it's so unique. It's the most unique layer in the whole game. Because the whole thing is about a single character. I mean sure, layers have been about characters, but most of them at least share.

Violence is just about one character, a character that's been there the whole time, from second one, but was always sidelined for something or someone else time and time again for 2 whole acts. V1.

Sure Gabriel fights V1, desires to fight V1, but it's more about how Gabriel himself feels about it. With his monologes it always felt to me like their "rivalry" is entirely one sided, that for V1 Gabe is just one more bloodbath in its way. At most he's amusing.

And fittingly the whole 7th layer feels entirely disconnected from the rest of the game, but especially from Gluttony and Heresy, from moment one. With its blast of white and surreal levels connected by ideas instead of geography. More then any layer so far in the game Violence feels like a mind palace, a dream scape. Alien and weird yet deeply personal. It reminds me of the Hunter's dream from Bloodborne.

The layer is about the romance and beauty of murder, the tragedy of weapons, and the self-destructiveness of it all.

Man, it's the fucking. That final stretch of War Without Reason. It makes me want to cry. The way the signature V1 guitar screeches so desperately, taking the highest notes it ever does, the instrument sounds like it's tearing its voice cords into teathers screaming, begging, trying to hold onto the moment, to not let go, to not let the composition conclude the way it inevitably will.

What is love but painting your world with the other's finite life? A desire to spill someone's lifeblood onto the walls of your house, take trinkets, momentos, limbs of your beloved's life which you graft onto your own, decorate yourself in viscera. War is the one thing machines can, the only thing. They feel for each other, they love each other, they seek to break down the metallic barriers of their skin and into the soft flesh beneath, and take their blood for their own. To love is to kill, and weapons only know killing. But when you kill someone they die. It doesn't last, it cannot last. No matter how hard you try, how deep you go its finite, it will be over. It will be over soon.

The Earthmover was V1's one true love, I will die on this hill. It's the only thing V1 went out of its way to kill. Way out of its way. It saw how it shoots its railcanon and was Helpleeeeees, down for the count and drowning in them. Even if we somehow ignore all the yonic visuals of the level design in 7-4. I mean, we're the Ultrakill fandom. We of all people should understand that trying to kill each other is sex.

[paranoiddreams]

Long Live the Queen - Prologue

Eden Sukuna is the daughter of the Queen and King of Curses, Y/n and Ryomen Sukuna. After her mother dies when she’s only 7 years old, she’s immediately put under the pressure of continuing her mother’s legacy, and becoming a great leader as she once was; but Eden doubts she’s ready for this, having dreams of her own she believes her mother would want her to chase. But her father is unwilling to let go of his expectations for his daughter, and the memory of his wife that comes with them. Unbeknownst to both of them, y/n is unlike the monarchs that once stood in her and her husband’s place, she’s here to fight for her family in life and death; Long Live the Queen, they said…

Warnings!! - Major character death, parental grief, monarchy, swordsmanship, none in this one really :D

WC!! - 570

A/n!! - after asking whether I should post this or not, I got a really good response!! I’m so excited about this, I love this story. If this post preforms well then I may continue the story. Lmk what you all think! Disclaimer, this is VERY inspired by The Cruel Prince, and basically the whole Folk of the Air series by Holly Black, she is my one of my many inspirations for writing hehe. Definitely check out her books if you’re interested in royalty, fantasy, folklore, and Fae😌

Ever since y/n, the Queen to the King of curses, died in a crossfire between a group of enemies infiltrating the Sukuna kingdom, the land she once ruled has never been the same.

The village people sung and held vigils for weeks, sometimes months, after she perished. Murals of her regal beauty were painted all around the village. The plant life seemed to change to a sad gray-blue color that could only mean that even the physical land of her kingdom was grieving as well. But no one, not even the royal land they stood upon, grieved as astoundingly as the king and princess of the Sukuna kingdom.

At just seven years old, Princess Eden had to stand in front of the people her family honorably ruled for centuries before her existence, and listen to her hell bound father tell them that their Queen had died. As she watched an uproar of anguished cries break out over the crowd, she found herself unable to comprehend how she herself should react in the moment. 

Eden is her father's daughter after all, so how could she be expected to portray herself as anything but fearless and cold-blooded?

It is still said that the news of Queen y/n’s death brought upon a great storm that lasted weeks over the land, and the rage of the king was felt by all of the village; like a shock wave that destroys everything only a few seconds after the bomb drops. 

This brewing storm only mirrored the storm growing inside of Eden; as the years went by and her father became more bound to his mission of hunting down his wife’s killers, it grew even more disastrous than the day before. 

But she poured every ounce of herself into the royal training the king insisted on her attending at the early age of ten, hoping to console that part of herself that has remained a distraught seven year old girl. 

Eden still practices for hours on the gray hills of grass behind the kingdom, learning to parry, riposte, and feint attacks with a wooden practice sword, just as she did under her father’s supervision in the start. 

Sometimes, she catches herself fighting as if she were the Queen in her final moments.

Did she feel the adrenaline Eden does as she slams the side of her sword against her imaginary opponent's? Did she also get bruises on her knees and shins? Queen y/n was known as the most skilled Queen with a sword in all of Sukuna history; did she remember that title in her final battle? 

If she did, Eden imagines that it must not have meant much in the face of death.

Sometimes, for a few moments, Eden believes that if she could go back in time with all that she knows now, and fiercely fight for her mother's legacy, she’d be able to save the once thriving kingdom her family created over centuries. 

But at the end of training, even if Eden is knocked down to the ground, or standing in triumph over her opponent, nothing she can do will bring her mother back; and nothing she can practice or dedicate herself to can distract her from that.

Despite all of this, Eden still goes back to the kingdom at dawn everyday, whether she's ready to face her father and the constant reminder of what she once had or not.

[deesseshesca]

PILE 1

His veiny hands, his strong bicep, his tattoo and the fact that everything he does screams masculinity. He’s amazing knowledge in alcohol or the fucking way he drive a car with so much assurance. His signature perfume and the way he never talks loud but always what's right. Did you ever find a man in finance this secure in himself with no God complex…yeah no that doesn't exist. But it's only right that he feels for you. The more I spend time observing you … I understand why he's falling… I am 2 .. I guess. Let’s start by the creativity that breathes out of you with everything you do. Is like you are in love with the whole woman's experience which can be seen by the way you take care of your hair ; long and healthy. You don't just stop there, you color them and style it  anytime you want. The freckles that decorate your face like you are living painting. Your perfect nose and small but luscious lips. Is the way you are fine not being everyone's type and you don't care to change. You with your long and beautifully manicured nails. The way you love on your body unapologetically even though is not the standard in modern beauty. You never complain about your boobs being too big, your butt being too small or even your hips being too wide. Nah you wear whatever you want. Flowing dress, deep cut shirt with no bra not caring that your tits are sagging. What makes you even more intrigued is the complexity that lives beneath your beauty, elegance and confidence. You fucking love cars, passionate about it. I would have never guessed it, I would think you were an artist or even a mua but nah mamacita is trying to become an engineer. Is almost like life never hurted, never controlled, never took the best out of you. You decide to be your own person no matter what and your authenticity can be seen, admired, and envy by many including me. In my case I was pushed into this bimbo character. Need to act, look and be always be perfect since I could remember. Making sure to eat properly so I don't gain to much weight, making sure to message my skin so my boob dont sag, make sure to shave everywhere on my body, make sure to straighten my curls because curly ain't sexy, making sure to never skip a leg day so the butt stay juicy, making sure to have a clear skin. And it does not stop there … making sure I moan seductively, make sure I know how suck good, making sure I am submissive enough. I did it all to please … the one I want, stay unimpressed while the other treats me like lesser women because all they can think of is having sex. Actually you guys are so cute together, the way you like to act like you don't see him applying  pressure. Always touching you any chance he gets, always looking at you across the room, always having your back when you need a ride back home even when the party's at his place. While you tease him, give him kisses across his face every so often, while giving him compliments with your beautiful voice, seducing him with your healthy femininity. Today, in the bathroom, too many drink in my system, hiding while writing this fucking email … I must admit that you have influence me. Because the man I love, loves you for you. Not a version of you made to please, made to seduce, made to only be relevant for the other sex. Maybe it is time for me to admit that all this is in vain … because being the standard did not make me pick, choose or even love. In all fucking honesty I am tired to prove that I am nice enough, fun enough, sexy enough, kind enough … Fuck… can I not just be enough ? (tears on the screen, somebody calls her name) 

Fuck is not like you are even going to read this anyways…

VIBES: New beginning, fresh start, new couple, love at first sight, red string theory, cant get enough of each other, a lot of tension, chemistry and perfect match. 

A lot of people are happy y’all find each other because you were both unfulfilled in love.

[luxmoogle]

Hi! I'm just so in love with your art and I wanted to let you know that I think it's so beautiful that I'm borderline in tears when I see your posts! The details and colors are mesmerizing and I can't help but stare and study it all. Makes me want to draw and be more experimental!

As someone with Sora as my favorite as well, I thank you so much. And I love the exploration of all the different characters and dynamics, it just scratches this itch in my brain.

And, I'm not sure if you've answered this before but which Sora main outfit is your favorite? I think mine is 3's just because I love black and red LOL

(I gift a mini Sora!)

How sweet you are, thank you for all your heartfelt words~! I really love that word, 'experimental', I think that's a core part of staying in love with a passion like art, always keep trying new things and experimenting~! Just the past week I've been painting apples with gouache and I've learned a lot of things, there's always something new to discover!

Choosing one outfit is hard, I've always been quite happy with his sets.. The original really feels like 'the right one', but the KH2 outfit at the time of release felt SO revolutionary, with the addition of drive forms so it's quite close to my heart, first new outfit..! And the Final Form out of all the drive forms, that's a definite favourite.

What a cute Sora~<3

[authorsofghosts]

Oxytocin Overload | Hank McCoy x Reader

Author's Note: hear me out....

Summery: After Hank left the lab to join the X-Men, you felt slightly disheartened, like a part of your soul had left. That's when you realized you were in love with the shy, strange nerd.

Themes: 2 Nerds In Love, Already Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers, Work Place Romance (kinda), Awkward Hank AND Awkward Reader, A Little Projection, Charles Cameo (kind of a main character ngl), Charles hatred (I love him tho), Disability rep (Charles Xavier I hate you <3), takes place between First Class and Apocalypse, Hank technically kidnaps the Reader (it's for their own good), Reader is a Mutant (no powers specified)

Word Count:

You're on autopilot, on your way back to your lab after talking to probably the most arrogant and ignorant person in the whole building. You're met, head first, with a hard chest of someone you didn't even see because you were currently ten hundred miles away.

"Oh- sorry, uh-" You start, looking up and seeing probably to best news all day. "Hank?"

"Hey." He chuckles out, his signature awkward smile on his face, hand fixing his glasses. "You know, when I came back here I thought you'd be long gone. It's been a while."

You look up at him, blinking slowly as you try to see if this was real or not. Your former work bestie is back after God knows how long. "Yeah, no, I'm still- I'm still here." You laugh, taking a step back. "What are you doing here?"

You look down, noticing he's in a lab coat. Strange. He's also, like, a good few inches taller and more muscular. Even stranger.

"Ah, uh... I was, uh... well I... I'm not supposed to be here, actually?" He laughs, looking at you with a completely serious face. "You know what? You should stay by my side while I uh- do the thing I'm not supposed to be doing." He stammers slightly, grabbing your hand and starting to walk.

You're taken aback, mouth agape as you start walking in turn with him. The way his voice was completely serious and how fast he's walking...

"What are you not supposed to be doing, Hank?"

"Grabbing some of my old research. Nothing, like, illegal, I hope." He laughs slightly, then stops talking for a second before turning to you, "Wait- you- okay never mind, I'll ask later." He grumbles, his pace doubling as he pulls you along with him.

Before you know it, you're half way across the building and out of place. Hank walks in an extremely stiff way that makes you almost feel like he's not the same guy you would go and drink with after work, or make jokes with when comparing studies. He's almost completely changed, except for his sweat palms whenever he got close to you, or touched you. And he's holding your hand still, making it quite obvious.

He pulls you into a room, "Stay by the door, alright?" He asks, biting down on the inside of his lip, walking further into his old lab, which has now collected a layer of dust so thick, every surface was painted a slight gray.

You watch as he looks around his lab, suddenly stopping before turning to a drawer and opening it. He mumbles under his breath before walking to you, putting the files in your hand. "Here. You where already carrying one so, it'll look fine. You're uh, not coming back here"

"What?" You ask, taken aback slightly.

"Whatever you're studying, I can help you back at my lab. I think it's best if you came to the School with me and we-" He pauses, the air hissing as he sucks it between his teeth. "I can explain later, we have to go, now." He takes your hand again and steps out the room, walking at almost a humanly impossible speed, your feet barely able to keep up.

Before you know it, Hank has you outside the building and into a rental car. you go to speak but are met with a voice in your head. "Hi, this must be scary. Listen, everything is going to be okay, I just need you to, uh... go to sleep." And then you do.

The man with the English accent's voice become slower and you wake up, laying on a couch somewhere else. You sit up immediately, looking around. You see a man sitting at a desk across the room, fingers knitted together as he looks at you. "Hello." He says, the same voice you heard earlier.

"Uh- hi?" You manage to get out. "Where am I?"

"You, my friend, are at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." He smiles, standing up. He grips the desk slight as he does so, seemingly slightly uneasy.

You get up and immediately walk over to him, feeling an impulse to help him. "What's that? Are you okay? Where's Hank?" You say, all these questions falling from you mouth before you can even realize you've sat this stranger on the couch you woke up on.

"Thank you, uh... Those are questions I have answers to, but I want to ask you something first." He says, studying over you. He takes a deep breath. "My name is Charles Xavier, and you might be?"

You introduce yourself, tilting your head slightly as you feel a sudden urge to tell him anything. So you do. You tell him your name, and where you work and stuff that he probably already knows if he knows Hank.

"Great, now that we're acquainted, can you tell me about your powers?" He asks almost too casually, especially with information you've never told any one.

"Wh- Powers? I don't-" You start, but he puts up his hand.

"No need to lie, you're in safe company." Charles says, but quickly looking towards the door right before it opens. "Hank." He smiles.

You look over at the door and see Hank, a box in hand. "It's time for the serum, isn't it?" He chuckles, placing it on the next and taking out a syringe."

"Yes, it is, thank you, bud." Charles says, waving his hand at him.

Hank looks at you, flashing a quick smile before rolling up Charles sweater and pressing the needle into his skin. Of course, you don't watch, shielding your eyes slightly. "Okay, well, uhm... let me know how you feel in five minutes, okay?" Hank asks before looking at you. "Hi. I'm sure there are a lot of questions-"

"Yeah. A lot." You say bluntly, standing up and looking at Charles for a moment and then back at Hank.

"I can answer them, I promise, just uh- You okay, Charles?"

"Peachy, yeah." The other man says, nodding and waving a dismissive hand. "Go talk to your friend, I'm just gonna... lay here."

Hank laughs, making sure Charles is in an okay position before gesturing to the door. You both walk out and he closes the door softly. You look around at the rather lavish hallway, eyes wide. "Hank, where did you bring me-"

"A school, mansion-turned-school, rather. Uh, for people like us." He says. "You have powers, and so do me and Charles. It's a lot to take in at first, knowing there are other people like you-"

"You have powers?!" You say, taking a step back. "What, are you like- what the hell am I talking about, this is crazy." You sigh loudly, walking in a direction away from the room, looking around for some kind of exit. "I don't have powers, Hank." You state bluntly.

"But you do. And so do I, I mean..." He sighs,stepping in front of you. "It's a little scary, you know? I don't want to scare you. Okay?"

You look at him for a moment, confused, until he pulls a small knife from his pocket and pressing it against himself, just softly. And before you can even process what's happening, Hank's skin turns blue, and so does his hair. His eyes are yellow and he gets a little bit broader. You watch in, not horror, but amazement.

"Woah- Cool."

"See? Now, show me what you can do." He laughs softly, putting the knife back in his pocket and rubbing at the small wound from the prick.

"Yeah- Uh- no." You shake your head. "This is... a lot to take in, uh... maybe we can talk about it over... dinner? Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Do you know what tomorrow is?"

"Friday?"

"Valentine's Day."

"Oh. Then maybe not tomorrow... unless...?"

[hurtspideyparker]

ur so right bestie, doing the good work 🙏

mirrorball for Tony Stark means you actually understand his character yesss. Like he acts arrogant because he's the most insecure man in Marvel! He secretly tries so hard to be liked and it never works so he just hides bc he'd rather they hate someone he isn't than someone he is. All he does is TRY TRY TRY. The fact that his death was not only foreshadowed from the first Avengers movie but constantly alluded to. How the worst part about the vision Wanda gave him in AOU wasn't that his friends died, it was that he didn't die with them? He's never enough, my pookie 😭

right where you left me for Strange. I'm not a huge Strange fan but now you got me feeling sad, it's such a perfect song choice. Like damn maybe I do feel bad about him and Christine 😞. Plus the fact that his whole life stopped when he lost control of his hands, meanwhile everyone else's kept going. Everything he cared about was tied to being a surgeon

HOW DARE U! The Prophecy is so near and dear to me I can't believe you'd place this burden on Clinton. He really just could not have it all no matter what. He tried to change his fate but his grip was too weak. "no sign of soulmates" AND NAT IS THE SOUL STONE. thanks now I'll cry everytime I hear that line ✌️

I see what you've done for Bucky Barnes. I see it, and it's too perfect. "Fighting in only your army" when all he does is go to war to fight beside a man who leaves him. "Always rising from the ashes" the way he LITERALLY falls as well as metaphorically before being forced to rise again and again. My man needs to rest. They are constantly torn apart and pulled back together, Bucky is barely a full person anymore.

Natasha as Peace spending her existence fighting for her life, and then trying to scrub herself clean of all the life she took. She joins all these great honourable heroes to try to live up to something good for a change but all she sees in herself is her past. Feeling like she's tainting them by associating with them. Feeling as if she's never done enough good to make up for it. I could never give you peace—to Clint, to her family, to the world that believes in her. She'll die trying, burn out her flame to keep you warm. "Your integrity makes me seem small, you paint dreamscapes on the walls" Steve and Tony. The believer and the futurist. "All these people think love's for show, but I would die for you in secret" and she did. she loved Clint so much, he gave her the peace she wasn't able to return until the end

loml for Peter Parker is easy pickings I won't even entertain this. In every universe man. EVERY UNIVERSE Peter Parker loses Gwen Stacy. He knew he wasn't supposed to go near her, and yet 😞

Long Live for my precious baby boy 😭💖 I fear I've never thought of this and now I'm jealous of ur brain. I really needed this. He is the golden boy and so many people were rooting for him. Tony, May, MJ, Ned, Happy... the way he used to be filled with such light and eagerness. He glows in my eyes

My girl Yelena deserves this song so bad. Would've Could've Should've is one of the most scathing and despairing songs a girl could relate to. And obviously it fits Dreykov, that freak, but also Alexei. The way he handed that 6 year old over when all she knew was safety and love under him. They took everything from her and now all she can think about are the years without free will forever haunting her because grown men thought she made a good commodity

I've never thought of a song for Pepper but Cornelia Street is a beautiful selection. Tony was such a rocky choice for her but it was the right choice, and she never knew when it would be his last time putting on that suit. The city screams his name, her work her life her daughter her everything. It was all his once too.

Loki How Did It End is so not cool. He wasn't supposed to have an end, and yet here he is. Genuinely gone this time. "A touch that was my birthright became foreign" that hurts so much knowing that his entire life seemed to be a lie to him. He would never get the throne, or their love, or out of Thor's shadow because it was never his to be in the first place. How did he get here, willing to die for Thor? To not have a way out this time? Come one come all is happening again. But he still doesn't know how it was really the end this time.

My tears ricochet is really just the icing on the cake huh. "We gather stones... you know I didn't want to have to haunt you" when they pair that with the time travel scenes and then Natasha's. Gutted. "I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want just not home" and the home is 2012-2015 domestic Avengers 😭😭😭 noooo. The way so many relationships were broken and they all had to come together in the end because the trust never fully went away.

Here's some of my personal Taylor Swift marvel comparisons:

Fresh Out The Slammer as a Bucky anthem. "Bitter, he was with her in dreams" Endgame Steve when I catch you 😠👊 "I'm the girl of his American dreams" Steve the American icon and his great sidekick Bucky! "where we used to sit on children's swings" nuff said... "but it's gonna be alright, I did my time". Bucky's been a prisoner for decades. Now that he's free he can finally live a normal life with Steve right? right???

Tolerate it as Homecoming Peter Parker (irondad). Peter as NWH Peter Parker (lol). But it's sooo Spideychelle coded "said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me"

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys as Steve Rogers. EVERYONE HE LOVES HE HURTS. Bucky Tony Natasha Peggy. All his closest friends and/or lovers. He stays till they get all smashed up then picks up the next shiny thing (I love Steve but it's true)

For a little fun and whimsy: I Did Something Bad for Loki. Plus "they're burning all the witches even if you aren't one" how he's always teased and blamed growing up. Then growing to embrace the mischief and deciding to truly be at the center of all the problems, even when they weren't his to begin with. "They say I did something bad but why's it feel so good ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ mortals 🙄"

Thor as Castles Crumbling. Everyone believed he was the next great king, including, most importantly, himself. Then seeing him slowly abandoning Asgard for Earth, then losing it to Hela, and finally having Thanos tear it to pieces. He completely gave up being king and passed it off to Valkyrie. "They used to cheer when they saw my face now I fear I have fallen from grace" "I will just let you down you don't wanna know me now" "I held that grudge til' it tore me apart" "my foes and friends watch my rein end" still mad about how they made Thor's depression and weight gain into a comedy bit.

Wanda as mad woman. Girl is literally the witch on the stake every movie 😭 first the Stark bomb drives her mad, Ultron torments her, then it's the media terrified of her because she couldn't control the bomb someone else set off, the loss of Vision due to Thanos, the entire Westview incident and her children... she does bad things but every single time it's because she was hurt so deeply first. she's just crashing out !!! "what a shame she went mad, you made her like that"

marvel characters as taylor swift songs but i take no critiques

tony stark:

stephen strange:

clint barton:

bucky barnes:

natasha romanoff:

peter parker (andrew)

peter parker (tom)

yelena belova:

pepper potts:

loki:

[stargirl230]

interlude

Lost focus and drew a consensual workplace relationship (the inherent intimacy of hanging out in an artist's studio to watch them exist in their element got to me)

Zoom in for details I poured my soul into <3

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)