#this is very funny if you know how he looks like in his like human for ig

[milktiicup]

Helloooo! I love your writing so much! I read it all day every time you post, especially your homicipher ones 🥹🫶 I hope you're doing great today btw!

If it isn't too much to ask, can you write the homicipher cast's reactions about the baby of Mr. Crawling and Mc? 👀

I imagine some would be very funny 😭

Have a lovely dayyy! Mwamwa!

little hands, dark hearts!

homicipher cast meeting you and mr crawling's baby! > scarletella, silvair, chopped, hood, machete mr crawling baby saga! chapter 1 chapter 2

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ i think you can tell i have favs by the amount of length and detail some of these have dkjfhkdhdgj

warnings. lol just pure angst in mr. scarletella's

MR. SCARLETELLA

He stares. And he stares. And he stares.

The silence is suffocating, weighing heavier than the shadows beneath his feet. Dull, grey eyes bore into yours, searching for answers that you couldn’t give. 

Of course, he brought you here to be with him. You gave him all these lovely offerings, shedding beautiful blood in his name, stared directly into his eyes as he enveloped you, taking you to his domain- but you wouldn’t give him your name. You stand there, swinging your crowbar, defiance burning in your eyes. It’s not fear he sees, not submission, but anger- a raw, searing thing that slices through the quiet like a blade. And it confuses him. No, it infuriates him.

His grip on his umbrella tightens, the knuckles whitening. His lips twist into a scowl, but behind it, something softer flickers- an ache he doesn’t know how to name. He’s used to taking. Claiming. But you… you’re not like the others. You’re still standing. Still staring. Still resisting.

And it only makes him want you more.

But then there’s him.

That thing. That crawling, pathetic thing that dares to share the space you once offered to him.

What does that creature have that he doesn’t? What pull does it hold over you, to make you look at it like that? Mr. Scarletella hates him. Oh, how he hates him. He hates your baby. Hates the way its small hands grasp at you, the way you cradle it against your chest as if it’s the most precious thing in your world. He hates the way your smile softens when you whisper to it, the way you laugh when it coos.

You look so happy. How could he take that away from you? And yet- how could you do this to him? You like him. He likes you. Why did you pick him?

The resentment pools in his chest like ink, sticky and dark. He wants to scream, to tear down this fragile illusion of happiness you’ve built, to drag you back into his arms where you belong. And yet, his hands tremble. His scowl falters.

You look so happy.

And the thought guts him. How could he take that away from you?

His lips twitch, caught between a sneer and a sigh, as he looks away. For the first time, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to take what he wants.

Mr. Scarletella’s chest rises and falls, his breath unsteady. His umbrella clatters to the ground, forgotten as his hands flex and curl into fists at his sides. He steps closer, the air around him rippling with suppressed fury.

“Why?” The question tears from his throat, jagged and raw, barely above a whisper. His crimson eyes gleam with something between desperation and rage. “Why?”

He’s staring at you again, but this time, there’s no pretense of control. Just pain, naked and wild, burning in the shadows of his gaze.

You don’t answer. How could you?

So, he waits. And he stares. And he waits.

MR. SILVAIR

Mr. Silvair holds your baby, careful and learning. His bandage gaze peers into the little eyes, baby babbling and cooing and reaching for his hair. He smiles, soft and curious. 

His infatuation with your child is endless. How was it possible for you two to procreate? To create something from something undead, a ghost, a monster- and a perfectly normal human. Questions that he will never have answers for- questions he doesn’t dare act upon. The baby is fragile, soft, and defenseless. He couldn’t take it apart and put it back together- he can’t break something that could never be fixed.

And the question eggs him at the back of his mind- what if it could?

His hands steady yet soft, as though he’s cradling the most fragile thing in existence. The baby babbles, tiny fists reaching for the loose strands of his silver hair, and when their fingers catch hold of it, she giggles with pure delight.

“Them like,” he observes, his voice unusually tender.

You stifle a laugh. “Of course she does. It’s shiny. Babies love shiny things.”

His head tilts slightly, silver hair brushing against the baby’s chubby cheeks as they continue their determined mission to grab at more strands. “Shiny good?” he asks, his curiosity genuine, as if this is just another puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Very good,” you assure him, stepping closer to watch the two of them. “She’s clearly a fan.”

The baby lets out a happy squeal, wriggling in his grasp. Silvair’s gaze flickers down to her, and though his eyes are hidden, there’s something warm in his expression. “Strong grip,” he notes, “Healthy.”

You smile softly, leaning against the counter. “She’s got her father’s energy, that’s for sure.”

Mr. Silvair doesn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on the baby as they try- and fail- to stuff one of his fingers into their tiny mouth. He gently redirects their hands, careful and patient. “Small,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Important.”

His words catch you off guard, and you glance at him. “Important?”

He looks up, tilting his head. “From you. Important. Interested in them.”

The simplicity of his statement warms something in your chest, even if he was purely fascinated with your child out of sheer scientific interest. You’re not sure if he fully understands the weight of his words, but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. You’ll take the softness of the moment. 

The baby lets out another squeal, this one more demanding, and Mr. Silvair bounces them slightly in his arms, an action so natural it makes you blink in surprise. The baby quiets immediately, snuggling into his chest with a content sigh.

“Good,” he says, more to the baby than to you. 

You can’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “She likes you,” you comment with a shuffled laugh. Of all the monsters here, your child just has to like the one who tears you apart. 

Mr. Silvair tilts his head again, his smile returning faintly as he glances down at the now-sleepy baby. “Me like them.”

“Cute?”

“Cute.”

MR. CHOPPED

“Want carry them,” Mr. Chopped pouts, cheeks puffed. “Them cute.”

“She’s so cute, isn’t she?” you chuckle.

The baby giggles, a toothless, gummy smile as bright as the sun. He frowned, his eyes narrowing in a mix of frustration and wistful longing. “Me carry. Want carry,” he repeated, his tone almost petulant.

“You’d need arms for that,” you tease, bouncing the baby lightly on your hip. The baby squeals, her laugh infectious, and you couldn’t help but grin down at her. “She’s so happy to see you, though. Look, she’s waving!” You guide her tiny hand in a slow wave toward Mr. Chopped.

His face lit up with exaggerated enthusiasm, his head tilting as he “leans” closer, as if proximity would help convey his affection. “Cute,” he said with deep conviction. “Many cute. Little human.”

The baby gurgles in response, her toothless smile lighting up her face. She reaches out as though she wants to grab him, her tiny fingers opening and closing in that delightful way babies do.

“See?” you laugh. “She wants to hold you!”

Mr. Chopped’s pout deepens dramatically. “Unfair. No arms. No hold. No carry. Me sad.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re fine, Mr. Chopped. She can’t even hold her own head up for long; I’m sure she’s not judging you for not having arms.”

“Baby not judge,” he said solemnly, his voice tender. “Baby happy.”

“She likes you,” you reassure him with a smile. “You’ve got that big, friendly face, and you’re always talking to her like she’s the most fascinating thing in the world.”

“Them are,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone so earnest it made you laugh again.

“Well, maybe one day we’ll rig up some kind of… carrier for you,” you offered jokingly. “So you can hold her. Or at least let her sit in your lap- if you had one.”

Mr. Chopped perked up at that, his cheeks puffing out again with excitement this time. “Yes! Make lap. Make arms. Then carry. Hug!”

“She’d probably love that,” you said, kissing the baby’s soft head. She giggled again, her tiny hands reaching out toward Mr. Chopped, her eyes bright and full of wonder.

MR. HOOD

“Not understand,” Mr. Hood repeats.

You sigh. “You have to support the back of her head,” you say, guiding his ghostly arm to the baby’s nape. “Gentle. She’s fragile.”

“Weak,” he observes. “Much small.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “so we have to protect her.”

Mr. Hood’s form shifts as he processes your instructions, the faintest hint of curiosity flickering through his voice. “Protect... small weak thing.” His hand hovers near the baby’s head. It trembles slightly, not from lack of strength but from hesitation- like a predator trying to handle something delicate for the first time.

You place your hands over his, guiding him with care. “That’s right. Support her head. Babies can’t hold their heads up yet.”

He tilts slightly, as though trying to look closer, though his featureless head offers no expression to read. The baby gurgles softly, her tiny fingers curling around one of his. The textureless appendage seems to surprise her, and she coos in delight, kicking her chubby legs.

“Why small thing hold?” Mr. Hood asks, his voice edged with wonder.

“She’s curious,” you explain, smiling at the sight. “She doesn’t know what you are, but she wants to hold on to you.”

“Not wise.” His tone is flat, but there’s no malice in it. He shifts slightly, his massive frame dwarfing her. “Me danger. Not afraid?”

“She doesn’t know fear yet,” you say softly. “She only knows what feels safe.”

His hand rests under the baby’s head and back now, cradling her with surprising gentleness. The contrast is almost surreal- his immense strength and amorphous form against the fragility of a newborn. The baby giggles again, wiggling in his hold.

“Small thing… trust,” he murmurs, his tone almost contemplative.

“She does,” you say, watching them with a warmth blooming in your chest. “And that’s why we protect her.”

“Protect,” he repeats, as if testing the word. His grip shifts slightly, more confident. “Protect small thing. Understand.”

It’s strange, seeing someone- or something- like Mr. Hood in this role, but in the quiet moment, his usual air of detachment seems to melt away. The baby yawns, her tiny body sinking deeper into his hold, completely at ease.

MR. GAP

“Give little thing,” Mr. Gap says from the vent, his voice more curious than menacing. You freeze, hand still cradling your baby close to your chest as his long, dark arm stretches out, holding something soft and fluffy- a teddy bear.

Your baby, who has been cooing and kicking her legs happily in your arms, notices the movement. Her bright eyes widen, and she reaches out toward the stuffed bear with an eager little giggle.

“Give them?” It’s such an innocent request. He’s just offering the bear, his dark figure so out of place in the light of the room, but there’s something almost endearing about it.

You laugh softly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, she’d love that,” you say. “She’s been really into cuddly things lately.”

The baby coos again, her tiny hands reaching for the bear, almost as if she recognizes the gesture as a gift. She touches it gently, then pulls it closer to her chest in a little snuggle, her face lighting up with joy.

“See? She likes it!” you say, glancing at Mr. Gap, your voice teasing. “Thanks to you.”

Mr. Gap pulls back slightly, his hand retreating into the vent, but you catch a glimpse of a subtle shift in his posture- a pleased air about him, as if he’s satisfied with the outcome.

“Them happy?” he asks.

You smile warmly, watching the baby continue to clutch the teddy bear like it’s her new best friend. “Yeah, she’s happy. And that makes me happy.”

A soft, quiet chuckle seems to come from the vent, and you can almost imagine a small, pleased grin behind the shadows. “Good,” Mr. Gap says, his voice full of pride. “Me good.”

The bear is now in the baby’s tiny hands, and her sleepy eyes begin to flutter shut, the soft comfort of the stuffed toy pulling her into a drowsy stupor. You gently rock her back and forth, watching as she drifts off to sleep, clutching the bear to her chest like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Thank you, Mr. Gap,” you say softly, though he’s long disappeared back into his shadowy realm. You’re not sure if he heard, but you still find yourself whispering it anyway.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels a little bit lighter.

MR. MACHETE

“What… that?” he asks, a finger lazily pointing at your baby nestled in your arms.

“It’s my baby!” you reply, pridefully, and cradle her for exaggeration. Within a second, your face falls firm, and you sternly say, “No fighting little thing.”

“Not fight?” Mr. Machete’s jagged smile turns into a comical looking frown. He scowls, and turns away. “Not interested.”

“Mr. Macheteee,” you whine, “Just look at her! Isn’t she just so cute?”

Mr. Machete pauses mid-step, his broad shoulders tensing at your words. He lets out a huff, loud and exaggerated, before reluctantly glancing over his shoulder. “Cute?” he echoes, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. His tone is skeptical, almost offended. His machete falls to his side, an ear-scratching ‘clang!’ that disturbs you more than your baby.

The baby coos, her tiny hands waving aimlessly in the air. Her bright, gummy smile beams up at him, and for a moment, Mr. Machete looks genuinely stumped. 

“Them small. Shape wrong,” he notes, leaning in closer. His massive frame looms over her, but he makes no move to get too close. “Weak. No teeth. Cannot hold attack tool.”

He stares at the baby a moment longer, his scowl softening ever so slightly as the baby giggles, a bright, happy sound that cuts through his rough demeanor like a blade. She reaches toward him, her tiny fingers grabbing at the air, and for reasons you don’t quite understand, he doesn’t immediately pull away.

The baby’s determination seems to intrigue him. He tilts his head and extends a single finger- not a threatening move, but cautious, almost testing. Her tiny hand catches his finger, and she grips it tightly, her toothless grin growing impossibly wider.

“Them strong,” he finally admits, his voice low but tinged with what could almost be considered respect. “When little thing big, fight.”

You roll your eyes. Well, at least he gave your baby some attention.

[postracehair]

altitude

max verstappen x reader | 1.5k

you hate flying. but it's a necessity if you want to see max during the f1 season. when you finally fly home together during a break, will you let him help calm you down?

cw: r hates flying, anxiety, kissing, like, lots of kissing, worried max, allusions to more than kissing, fluff, george/carmen cameo

a/n: she's so me! i hate flying! but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do! wrote this way back after brazil, but have it now as a race week gift.

--

Everything changes very quickly after you meet Max Verstappen.

You are pulled into a world of action and luxury all because he wants you there. And you go willingly because you want to be with him, too. How could you not? The world famous champion is a kind, funny, and sweet man who loves his cats, his friends, and, as is becoming clear, you.

Much of the start of your relationship is scheduling. A day here and there between races, dinners and walks and movies at his place or yours. You spend a lot of time in airports when you can, working on the go and white knuckling your way through flight after flight. It's worth it to see him on the other side.

Somehow, you've never actually travelled together.

Until now.

The race weekend ends the best way possible -- the top step of the podium. A night of celebrations fades into an early morning flight on a private jet and this time, you're coming with. Because Max has three weeks off. He'll have to work, of course, spending time in Milton Keynes before the final stretch of the season, but for the most part you're going to have him all to yourself.

It does not occur to you until you're in the car on the way to the tarmac that Max has no idea how much you hate flying. You're in one of those big Sprinter vans, head on Max's shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. George and Carmen sit on the other side, the former's head tipped back as he dozes. Everyone is quiet and you're working a bit hard to keep yourself calm.

"What is it?" Max whispers. He puts his phone down and you look over at him. His hair is a mess, you can see that much even in the low light of the van. You reach out and run a hand through it.

"What?" you whisper back.

He shakes his head a little and wraps his fingers around your wrist. "You were all loose and then you got tense."

The frequent distance between you and the busy nature of your schedules demands that communication be top of mind. You do not lie to each other about your feelings, and you do not hide things. Even things like this.

"I don't really like flying," you say, softly. "I've never told you because we've never flown together. It just makes me kind of anxious. I've never been able to shake it."

His brows furrow. "Really?"

"I'll be fine," you assure him. "Just, maybe hold my hand during takeoff and landing. And if there is any turbulence."

"But -- I don't understand. Are you afraid?"

You know that there is really no way to make him understand but also that he won't stop trying to. Max gets afraid, he gets nervous. He's only human. But he combats it with sheer willpower, focus, and skill.

"I fly this way all the time," he says, urgent this time. "It's totally safe."

"That's not -- Max, I just get nervous. It's not really to do with safety. I just don't really enjoy it."

"Oi," George says, rousing. "What are you two yapping about?"

"Go back to snoring, George," Max says, not taking his eyes off you.

"Do I really snore?" you hear him ask in a hushed tone. Carmen shushes him.

"Pulling up to the plane now, folks," the driver calls back.

"Seriously," Max says, sounding a little desperate. "It'll be alright."

"I know. I fly all the time, Max." His frown deepens.

"To come see me," he reminds you. "If I knew you didn't like it, I would have --"

"What?" you interrupt. "Invented teleportation? It's okay, Max. Knowing it's to see you makes the whole thing easier, honestly."

This does not satisfy him. You can tell. It's a problem he can't solve -- his least favorite kind. There is no simulation to run for this, no meeting he can talk through, no track he can circle a thousand times.

The van door opens and you're all beckoned out onto the tarmac. You follow George and Carmen with your bag and Max is at your heels, his duffle slung over one shoulder and his other hand on the small of your back. Normally, he's not this touchy, but he seems reluctant to let your conversation in the van go.

"Max--"

"I'm thinking, liefje."

You roll your eyes. "About how to invent teleportation?"

"Something like that," he grumbles.

The jet is narrow, an aisle on one side and four rows of seats on the other. Four sets of two, a table between them. Carmen and George settle into one nook and you toss your bags into another. You slide into the window seat and Max sits heavily in the one next to you, still frowning. You let him, instead looking around to absorb the new experience.

It's much nicer than a regular plane, that's for sure. There is a cooler stocked with drinks and a cabinet full of what seems to be snacks. You can stretch your legs to rest your feet on the seat across from you. It's so early you figure all of you will just sleep, though Max's mood seems at odds with that plan.

The pilot introduces herself and gives a quick rundown of the route and airtime. You all nod and smile and then the doors close and the lights dim.

Max's hand finds yours immediately. You sit up a little and look over at him. He looks even more frazzled than he did at the hotel, when you both rolled out of bed and into comfy clothes. Soft pants and a hoodie that make him look boyish, younger than he is. But here, his cheeks are a little flushed and his jaw is set like he's about to get in his race car.

"What do you do normally?" he asks, softly. You can hear George's soft snores already. "When I'm not there."

"Max," you sigh.

"Tell me, please?"

The seat shifts under you as it heads for the runway. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Well, I don't hold some random guy's hand," you tease. He squeezes your palm and huffs. 

"He could be so lucky."

The plane comes to a stop and you know what happens next. Your mind remains preoccupied with Max -- a good thing, right now -- but your body tenses and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter as the engines kick up and you pick up speed.

Max says your name but you don't budge. "Liefje," he whispers, much closer than before. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he gently holds your chin with two fingers and turns your face towards him.

And then he's kissing you. A closed mouth press of his lips to yours, firm but still. At least until you sigh into it, releasing your death grip on the arm rest to reach for him blindly, your tangled fingers between you. The kiss deepens, his nose sliding against yours as you part your lips and the chaste press becomes more. Max's tongue licks into your mouth leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to explore you. 

You kiss and kiss and kiss, so long that a voice in your head wonders if maybe you can do this for the whole flight, please? Max tugs your legs across his until you're practically in his lap, spread across the two seats like they're one.

"We're reached cruising altitude," the speakers crackle. "Feel free to move about, but please be mindful."

Max pulls away, a strand of spit glistening between you until he wipes it away with a smirk. His hair is even messier than before and his cheeks are pink. Lips swollen, eyes glassy -- you must look the same. Your heart is racing and you laugh, breathless.

"Well," Max says, then swallows. His voice is raspy, hoarse with desire. "Guess you have to fly with me from now on."

"Max." You pitch forward and settle where his neck and shoulder meet and inhale. His arms wrap around you and he holds you close. You can hear his heart racing just as fast as yours.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "I know."

"I can do it," you remind him. "I do it all the time. I just don't like it, that's all."

You feel the press of his lips on your hair.

"I just don't like that I can't fix it," he says. "I can't get inside your head and make you know it's alright."

"No, you can't," you sigh. The plane jerks just a little -- a swoop of your stomach that has you gasping. Max's hold on you tightens and he says your name.

"How do you do this alone?" he rasps, mouth next to your ear as he rubs your back.

"I close my eyes," you say, taking deep breaths. "And I imagine you with me."

He curses softly. "We should get a jet by ourselves next time," he mutters. "Then I can really distract you."

That gets you to laugh, though you can't say you hate the idea. It makes you feel warm, makes you press your thighs together.

"Next time," you echo. "But for now..."

Max cups your jaw and ghosts his nose over yours. "For now..."

He brings your lips together.

[ultravi0lence14]

Butterfly

sam winchester x angel!reader

1k | fluff, fem pronouns

summary: you and sam were complete opposites of each other, and sam had no idea how a gorgeous, pure girl like you could even chose him in the first place.

sam sometimes just stared at you when you weren’t looking, wondering how he got so lucky in finding a girl like you.

you were so sweet, someone sam thought his wretched soul wasn’t worthy of. he’s got demon blood running through his veins, the vessel of lucifer himself. why would you — an angel as pure as snow — even remotely look his way.

that was the funny thing with you angels though. you guys always saw the best in people.

before you touched down from heaven, you had learned the copious stories of the winchester brothers lives. how their mother died, springing them into the hunting life. their tragic upbringing, and how their father raised them poorly. but most importantly, you learned about the youngest.

sam winchester. the boy with demon blood. every angel you spoke to said he was an abomination, but you thought differently.

this wasn’t sam’s fault. he was a defenceless baby, having this curse brought forth onto him by his mother’s actions long before his conception. sam was a victim, a child forced into this life with no say whatsoever; and you felt like the only angel who truly saw it like that.

when you had made it to earth, cordially meeting both sam and dean for the first time, you wondered why your brother’s and sister’s talked so poorly about the man.

he truly was a friendly giant. too sweet for his own good. he cared. about people he didn’t know, his brother especially, and all the strangers he came across on hunts with dean.

watching him console a victim for the first time tugged on your heart strings. he was so kind, so thoughtful and unlike anything said about him up in heaven. it was at that moment you felt your first human emotion. a surge of fondness rushing up your body like bile coming up your throat.

for a fleeting moment, you experienced what human love was truly like.

as time moved forward, you and sam got closer and closer. more often than not, you decided to stay back and research with him instead of going out with dean and cas. you talked with him, learning about his childhood from his mouth and truly understanding the full truth and severity of his life growing up.

the day that he kissed you for the first time was magical, better than the feeling of all angel grace combined. he was nervous, hands shaking as the cupped your face and shyly asking if this is what you wanted.

of course you wanted it. you wanted sam winchester since the moment you saw him, and now you were finally getting what you hoped for.

just as you believed, sam truly was the perfect boyfriend. he was caring and considerate, always willing to drop anything and everything to make sure you were okay. though he was also tough and protective, turning full hunter mode whenever someone bothered you or made you uncomfortable.

one thing you loved was how he spoke to you. he held you at the highest point in his mind, addressing you with the upmost love and respect that he could muster.

because that is how he really saw you. sam in his heart believed that you were possibly the most gorgeous being he’d ever laid his eyes on. you were truly the apple of his eye, and he wouldn’t dream of letting someone as perfect as you go.

he even called you his butterfly. a gorgeous creation of God that flys around and somehow always lands somewhere on him. which was true, because you were a very clingy person.

you two were always holding hands, arms linked, or sam’s arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. dean had to stop himself from hurling 24/7, and you had to stop yourself from getting cartoonish hearts in your eyes whenever you looked at him.

the peace and serenity that you brought to sam’s life was all he could ever ask for. when you decided to take up drawing and painting, he cherished the times you two would find an empty space, setting down a picnic blanket and drawing whatever your heart desired surrounded by nature.

when he joined you for the first time, and you handed him over a intricately detailed drawing of him sitting down at that very moment, eyes opened and staring woefully at the large trees and flowers surrounding him, he couldn’t help but let a couple tears fall.

“oh no,” you had exclaimed, sitting up on your knees so you could get nearer to him. “you don’t like it, do you?”

he instantly snapped his head towards you, watching as tears filled your bright coloured eyes. his heart shattered staring into your glassy irises, and he cursed himself for ever making you feel like that.

shaking his head and putting down your sketchbook so he could cup your face, sam pulled you over to him so you were delicately perched in his lap. eye’s boring into his as he delicately stroked your cheek.

“i love it butterfly. that is the prettiest drawing i have ever seen. even prettier cause it was made by you.” his cheesy words made you blush, not caring in the slightest how silly you two probably looked to on lookers. with your finger reaching out to trace the slope of his nose, you looked at him with a soft smile on your face, pouring your heart into one look. “you mean that?”

“of course i do.” his eyes held that glossy puppy dog look you loved so dearly, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. “i am not trying to sound cheesy when i say this, but you truly are the best thing that ever happened to me, butterfly. you’re the one of the only one’s who believed in me.”

his words brought a gleeful smile on your face. and as the midday sun trickled across his, you thanked your father for whatever he did to make you and sam come together.

[filipfatalattractionrblog]

The thing about Episode 7, Jayvik and Timebomb

We like to joke about the whiplash from constantly shifting between Ekko's visit in paradise and Jayce's suffering, but....

I actually have to put the shipping googles back on for this one.

When Ekko and Jayce meet, Timebomb and Jayvik have basically been torpedoed. Ekko almost killed Jinx last season, and only hesitated at the last moment. He spent so much time telling himself Powder is dead and Jinx killed her, but now he is no longer so sure. Jayce meanwhile kept drifting away from Viktor and every time he thought he would bring them back together, he would fumble, last time they meet he was yelling, unable to understand why Viktor given up on him, as if Jayce haven't broken every promise he made to him by not destorying the hexcore and by weaponizing hextech. Ships aren't completely sunk, but they're gaining water fast.

And then the Wild Rune sent Jayce and Ekko to different worlds. Ekko gets the world that could have been, Jayce gets one that may be.

Ekko's life in a near-utopian version of Zaun quickly focuses on him falling in love with Powder that could have been. And why wouldn't he fall in love with her? Shems a genius, she's funny, she's creative...but I think with time he realizes that all these things can still be found in Jinx. He realizes Jinx didn't kill Powder, Jinx is Powder lashing out in pain.

And yet, this Powder is not free of pain either. It's different pain, that he actually stupidly pokes early on. Pain caused by different trauma, which she got to deal with, while having a better support network, but sitll present (I have seen somewhere a good argument she shows signs of depression, but forgot where). It's not that she deals with her pain better than Jinx, it's just different. And I see with time Ekko realizes that and realizes how wrong it would be to give up on Jinx, that the same person he loves is in her world, but she has no one to be for her what this Powder has in her Ekko, Mylo, Claggor, Vander and Silco (that last one is an assumption on my part, it's unclear how close he is with Powder in this world, but considering he apparently co-runs the bar with Vander, he has to be present in her life in some way). When Ekko decides to come back, he isn't doing it only because it would be unfair to Ekko of this timeline and to Powder and everyone who loves that Ekko. He also does it because he realzied what an asshole he'd be to give up on Jinx.

And remember, he has no fucking idea about the seven hells of bullshit that went down in his world when he was absent. He doesn't know about martial law, about Warwick, about Viktor, about Noxus. He's coming back expecting to deal with his tree being sick and Chem-Barons war.

Now let's look what Jayce goes through. He gets sent to hell where his dream goes horribly wrong, yes. But what quickly happens to him? He breaks his leg falling down the chasm. He ends at the very bottom of where Piltover used to be. Correction, where Zaun used to be. The enviroment is slowly poisoning him. He is forced to fight every second to survive. Poisoned by enviroment, limping, forced to use leg splint and a staff as a crutch. Sounds familiar? Moreover, he is then forced to climb his way from the bottom all the way to the highest tower of Piltover. I'm surprised more people aren't talking about this, the metaphor is laid down pretty thick. Jayce gets crash course version of Viktor's life, he is literally forced to walk miles after miles in his shoes. They even made his leg splint look like one League of Legends' Viktor had until 2024.

he never really could understand where Viktor is coming from, even at his lowest he still was a minor noble house, he still lived in good part of the town. And sure, he and Viktor became close, but then Jayce got seduced by the fame, by glamour, by being man of progress, by being savior of the future, by cushy council seat. Power makes it hard to see evil, and privledge makes you blind to human the suffering. This experience was eye-opening to Jayce. I wonder how many times he must have stopped himself and realize this is what Viktor goes through on daily basis. And, as we learned later, after Jayce climbed this way to the top of hell, he saw how much HE means to Viktor, how HE is the only person who can give Viktor hope and save him from his own internalized ableism. He goes back to save the world, but he also goes back to save Viktor.

These stories weren't paired jsut to fuck with us, they're pararells. Jayce and Ekko both were blinded, one by glamour, the other by hardship, they could no longer see real Viktor and Jinx, too wrapped up in the people the world forced them to become. Each one was forcefully stripped from his ideantity, and therefore his biases, and forced to actually SEE the person they love, not the false image they built, but real them. And then each one went back and each one reached to their respective love and save them. And jsut like Ekko went back in time over and over to make Jinx see he's there for her even if she hates herself, Jayce was willing to sacrifice it all to show Viktor he doesn't need to be perfect to be loved, because for Jayce he always was beautiful.

And I could probably write a whole separate essay about how this theme of tearing through your own bullshit and actually SEEING the other person is present in this season. How Jinx and Vi are forced to go through microcosm of each other's experience to rebuild their love. How Caitlyn is saved from her own descent into villainy by being forced to see how much pain she caused Vi, see a human in Warwick, see a wounded child in woman who killed her mother. How Vi stops her self-destruction by trusting Jinx and seeing Vander in Warwick. How Mel literally has to fight Illusionary Sorceres, a.k.a. LeBlac THE DECEIVER and defeats her with words "I see you". How Ambessa is the only person who doesn't go through this identity destruction this season, even i nthe opening proudly wearing red of Noxus, and that's why she fails. How Maddie being a spy is telegraphed from her first appearance, where she's blocking the sun, effectively obscuring Vi's vision and making herself harder to be seen. How Jinx and Sevika are forced to see people in one another now that Silco's gone. How even during sesbian lex Vi doesn't let Cait get bogged down in guilt because she sees the woman she loves and that's all that matters. How Ekko defeats Viktor by showing him he's wrong to think only he can achieve power of Wild Rune, but also by literally tearing off the mask of god from his eyes, so that Viktor can SEE Jayce again.

But it's 4 in the morning as I type this and I'm no longer being coherent. Episode 7 is literally the microcosm of the whole season and Ekko and Jayce go through the same character arc in it.

[milykins]

Hello my dear! ✨️

I was curious if you might be able to write a little something fun/fluffy with Mikey for this prompt:

"Sorry, you're just my type."

I'd love to see what you could come up with for this. Thank you!

🫂💖

Finally ready to post! I hope this doesn't disappoint. I had fun putting my own nerdy spin on this ask and putting it in my AU where they already live among humans just worked really well for this prompt. Thank you for it!

TW: None, set in an AU where they live in the city and have jobs/own businesses. Aged up, adult turtles

Special thanks to @sophiacloud28 for beta reading!

Just My Type

Mikey was kind of a big deal. He was the first of his brothers to go ‘public’ once they had made the decision to reveal themselves. Predictably, Leo had advised him to go about it carefully. Raph followed suit, and Donnie especially. Both were planning to take careful baby steps and advised Mikey to do the same.

Funny that they expected him to listen, did they even know him? Unsurprisingly, he went hard, very much putting himself out there. To him, the choice was easy. If they were to live among the humans, he needed to show them that they meant no harm. The incident at the police station was a painful reminder of how bad things could go and he was willing to do whatever it took to prevent that. Mikey was steadfastly dedicated to shifting humanity’s perspective from ‘monsters’ to ‘heroes’.

To his delight, the expressed reception was largely positive. He was very pleased that his efforts had paid off. Perhaps a little too well. Mikey ended up with a huge fanbase in a matter of months. His popularity exploded across social media and he even appeared on a few talk shows.

Opening his comic book store was huge. People camped outside with lineups around the block for the grand opening. The rush of customers and fans was so intense that Mikey actually had to call his brothers in for assistance. Raph had been more than happy to act as a bouncer for his little brother.

He was quickly becoming very familiar with the term ‘be careful what you wish for’. Our hero in orange was there. The constant fans demanding pictures, autographs, even trying to steal his mask… (he’d lost four so far) had been grating on him a little. He’d been wondering if his brothers were right in telling him he should’ve approached humanity more carefully. Leo certainly had no problem pointing it out. ‘You asked for this, Mikey. What did you expect?’

He couldn’t say. He’d just wanted what they all wanted. Acceptance. Now, it looked like he’d bitten of more than he could chew.

Then you came along.

He’d been watching the day you nervously approached the door. Carefully, you placed your hand on the door handle before abruptly drawing it back like it had been burned. Turning on your heel you left fast, caught up in your own mortification. Stifling a soft chuckle, Mikey went back to his work.

You proceeded to do this twice more over the coming days much to his growing amusement. He couldn’t help but be intrigued and was patiently waiting for the day you summoned enough courage to actually enter the store.

Obviously, you were a huge fan. He was flattered of course but he could tell something was different about you. Typically, his fans had no fear in approaching him and most had even less shame in throwing themselves at him. He found your hesitancy and careful approach to be endearing and a refreshing change.

His heart soared the day you finally summoned your courage and asked to be a part of his weekly one-shot D&D afternoon gaming sessions. Of course it was a resounding yes from him. He was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic as he was more than happy to include you.

It was a wonderful thing to see you blossom during the session. To see your confidence grow as you slowly came out of your own proverbial shell. You’d played before, he could tell. The adorable accent you put on as you fell into the role of playing your character nearly dropped him on the back of his shell. It was so cute. He delighted in the fact that you did not need much help in calculating your rolls either. He was really trying to tamp it down but he was already smitten. Soft, sweet, pretty and shy, but hiding this confident player underneath. You were just his type.

As the session came to a close, he felt a surge of pride upon being thanked by you. A wholly grateful smile on your face. Humbly accepting the praise, he secretly hoped this wasn’t the last he’d see of you. To his relief you shyly approached him after the game, not to ask for a picture or an autograph but to ask if he knew of any D&D groups accepting new members. Hope bloomed within him as he explained that actually there was one. His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched the excitement in your eyes grow. It was a done deal. You were invited to join his very exclusive, only reserved for family and close friends… D&D group.

Those sessions were the most enjoyable he’d ever had the pleasure of dming. Seeing you attend his games became the highlight of his week. You and he soon struck up a solid friendship and for once in his life, Mikey was trying his hardest not to come on too strong. He didn’t want to screw this up by any means. He wanted you to call the shots and was secretly hoping that you liked him as much as he liked you.

Oh, he was in deep. He began noticing the subtle nuances in your behaviour, little things unique only to you. How your cheeks flushed pink when something embarrassing happened or when he’d teased you in-game. Your expression of pure satisfaction and excitement as you rolled a perfect nat20 and your contradictory one of utter disappointment and dramatic woe when you rolled a nat1. He found himself craving these moments, just to see how you’ll react. Truthfully, he’d fudged at least one roll just so you’d have a success instead of a failure. He needed to see the look of pure joy on your face. He wanted to be the cause of that joy.

One day, he couldn’t help it. He had to ask you out. Saying he was nervous was an understatement. You’d think having such a huge fanbase would’ve prepared him for this but alas no. He was still a shy, stuttering mess when he’d quietly suggested dinner and a walk after.

At your soft, surprised yes, he nearly cheered with an overly enthusiastic fist pump. Instead, he tugged you in for a tentative hug and quietly told you how happy that would make him. He had to really hold back from kissing you as your faces grew close. Shyly, you pulled away first to tell him you’ll see him there. He watched you turn with a small wave and a tiny excited smile. You were so adorable it hurt.

The date itself seemed to be a success. He wanted you to be wined and dined, wanted you to feel special, like a princess. He tried to be an absolute gentleman while putting his best romantic foot forward. To his delight, you seemed to be having a wonderful time. If your wide smiles and soft bouts of laughter were any indication. By the time he was carefully holding your hand while walking with you through Central Park he’d thought he'd made it. Reading your body language and how you had glanced up to his face a few times while your cheeks flushed so prettily. He took the cue and leaned in for that once-in-a-lifetime first kiss. It was going to be perfect.

It was… until you pulled away at the last second. Mikey felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. Concern laced his features as he searched your face to find out where he’d gone wrong. Then you started talking, your voice stuttering and unsure.

“I’m sorry… I just… I didn’t think you really liked me like that…”

His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. “You… you don’t feel the same way… do you?” There was no hiding his disappointment this time. He watched your eyes widen as you struggled to pick your next words carefully.

Your tone changes then as you shake your head and then nod, stammering a bit. “Wait, wait, wait! No, I do! I do like you, Mikey… I just didn’t think you’d go for me, I’m nothing special… not like those fangirls of yours. Aren’t they more your type?”

This was the answer he’d least been expecting to hear. He’d been sure you were going to let him down easy… that your heart belonged to another… more human guy. Not a mutated turtle guy.

“Not my… you think that they…” His mind was absolutely blown. This gorgeous, sweet woman thought that she wasn’t good enough for him? That was it, he was in love.

“Sweetheart… sorry to disappoint you, you’re just my type. Exactly my type. You’re the only woman I want to be with. The one that knows the real me.” He gave you a truthful and tender smile as he carefully tucked an errant curl behind your ear.

This time, when he moved in for that kiss, there was no hesitation on your part. He wanted you to feel the joy and tenderness he poured into it, right down to your toes.

A tightening of your grip and a deepening of the kiss was all he needed to know that you did feel it. He’d found what most people had been searching for their entire lives. A deep connection you both shared in the depths of your souls. To heck with ‘types’ he just wanted you.

Until the next ask!

Taglist:

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

Please ask if you'd like to be added!

[detta-pica]

“You need to do your oldschool detective schtick,” Satoru says, still rubbing his leg. Suguru wants to do it for him. As much as they touch, reaching out to each other constantly, he always wants his hands on Satoru’s skin. Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever felt so covetous of anything else. And Satoru knows. He must know. There’s no way Suguru has managed to hide this when his aura floods with adoration at the most innocuous of prompts. Defeated, he picks a spot he can’t see--under the bed they’re resting on--and pulls at the hidden stores of magic that make up a part of his soul. Dragon jumps up onto the mattress moments later and immediately settles against Satoru’s side, purring with the subtlety of a lawnmower. Satoru laughs, sinks his fingers into the cat’s white, fluffy fur. The touch ripples across the very core of Suguru’s being, unfairly soothing for how many boundaries it crosses. “You’re helping,” Suguru says, as sternly as he can while a piece of his soul preens under Satoru’s attention. He grabs the thick file folders from the desk, full of information about the case, and begins spreading them over the empty bed. “Use your big brain for once.” “Well shit. With that kind of encouragement, I’d better.” Perhaps sensing Suguru’s momentary weakness, Satoru summons his own familiar, a slick black cat with purple eyes. Six takes a moment to brush up against Suguru’s shins, then retreats to one of the pillows. It’s funny that the cats not only look like their human counterparts, but also behave similarly. Dragon, clingy and obnoxious, sticks close to Satoru’s side, big blue eyes unblinking. Probably it says something about Suguru, since it’s his familiar. And Six’s behaviour should be a reflection on Satoru. Suguru has his theories about why the cats act the way they act. He’d rather die than speak them out loud.

Another witch AU snippet for WIP Wednesday. It's from a pre-time skip story that I've been sitting on for months now, but can't post.

I've realised that part 8 is going to be a lot longer and more complex than I thought, and I absolutely need to have it fully drafted before I publish any further stories in the series, in case I need to sneak in foreshadowing or adjust some things. So it might take me a little while.

In the meantime, I'm planning a little something for the 7th of December and Christmas Eve.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

The Replacement Fighter from RoR but this time it's with the Demon Slayer characters.

What if the reader accidentally slipped through time & "went back" to the Taisho Period? Basically they "teleported" from the modern era to the past. And while they still had their original capabilities, personality, characteristics & looks, they gained some new ones too. Though they were just happy they still had their lanky ass height & tattoos. Their breathing style is similar to "Serpent breathing" but instead of snakes they get the "Naga." Basically a water dragon/snake from South East Asian mythology.

The outfit/accessories:

Sure, they're very strong & can fight off demons pretty easily, but they have no idea what a "Hashira" even is. And they think the demons are just playing a "silly prank" sometimes.

Since the reader is from modern times, they had some issues with the bathrooms, bed & the overall lack of air conditioning and wifi. Then they were freaking out about where to charge their phone & tablet. The reader also had a habit of using slangs, phrases & memes from modern times which is something that the others had hard time understanding.

How would the KNY characters react to them?

For: Uzui, Rengoku, Sanemi, Mitsuri, Urokodaki, Hagenezuka & Gyomei

-It had been not only a big shock, but a big adjustment for you, when you wound up in the past, long before Wi-Fi, air conditioning, video games, and refrigerators.

-Coming back to the past in Japan was more than enough, especially dealing with demons that tried to attack you, wanting your ‘prime flesh’ to grow stronger. Too bad they chose the wrong opponent, and you handled many demons bare handed.

-You originally thought they were bandits trying to scare anyone passing by to attack them for anything valuable, until you saw one of them morph into a creature that many would call a nightmare, that’s when you knew that these weren’t humans, not anymore.

-Your raw strength quickly caught the attention of the Demon Slayer Corps, who begged you for your help in taking out the demons, more specifically the leader of the demons, Muzan.

-You didn’t hesitate to agree to help, not at all bothered because you could hear their desperation. You quickly became a Hashira, making the final Selection look easy, to the awe of many and annoyance of some who had worked so hard for so many years.

-Your breathing style was like Obanai’s Snake Breathing, but it was far more powerful, and you named it Naga Breathing, and many demons, including some of the Upper Moons, were terrified of you, knowing what you were capable of, seeing your raw strength for themselves.

-Muzan desired to eat you, knowing that if he consumed you, he would be unstoppable, but while you make look like a snack, you aren’t looking to be eaten by anyone. He even approached you once, asking if you wanted more power, to become a demon, something you delivered a hot and fresh knuckle sandwich straight to his teeth for.

-For the most part, living in this day and age wasn’t bad, you got your own house, you got to lounge around all day, and you didn’t have any real responsibilities, at least at home.

-You did miss air conditioning and electricity, as you missed playing your video games and watching videos, but it was unique to see the birth of electricity in Japan, as inventions were being revealed for the first time, so it was kind of fun to see when things like this first started out.

-Your fellow Hashira didn’t really know what to make of you, as you talked funny, and talked about odd things that they had never heard of.

-Some liked you, like Mitsuri because you were handsome and a big eater, Obanai which was surprising due to your quiet nature and similar breathing style, Tengen who thought you were flashy, Gyomei who could sense your strength but also your desire to not hurt others aimlessly, Shinobu because you would ask questions about her research that would get her on the right track of new medicines, Giyuu because you were quiet and didn’t really mind if he just sat with you, Rengoku who was your opposite, being bright and energetic, almost too much at times, but you liked his vibe.

-The only one who was irritated with you was Sanemi, who you discovered was irritated with everyone, constantly raging, even more so when he would be yelling and having a tantrum and you would pipe up with, “Big mood.” Gods you were so infuriating! If you weren’t so strong and needed to take on Muzan he probably would have strangled you long ago!

-You also found yourself with three and a half younger warriors who would always follow you around, Inosuke because he wanted you to fight him, Zenitsu and Tanjiro who admired your strength while also being confused by your lazy personality when you weren’t fighting, and the half was Nezuko, who would follow you around like a duckling, sensing that you were a good person, mainly because you let her play with your hair without being bothered.

-Muzan had to be careful as he and his Upper Moons planned an attack, not only was he at risk of facing the Hashira, the strongest of the Corps, but he was also being faced with you, a warrior that made him feel fear, much like Yoriichi.

-You were oblivious to his plotting, as were the rest of the Corps, you were in your house, watching Inosuke, Tanjiro, and Zenitsu sparring while Nezuko was putting flowers in your hair while you were eating snacks.

[sadrockandwaltzes]

Just some crappy Mikage drawings based on images from the show cause I need practice... I feel like I'm really getting the devianart experience tryna draw him😅😭

He looks much better in the show I assure you...

[writing on top left says 'Mikage Death Pose' since it looks very simpson death esque; writing for glasses (he looks so cool in his prof outfit) says 'stylish professor turned stylish librarian after pick-up attempt' (cause I accidentally gave him lipstick😅); middle left writing says 'shading fail' and 'dude being shady- not blushy; and bottom writing says 'Gah... She kept me waiting again!']

Favorite's definitely the bottom one

[cosmic-nopedog]

AAAHAHAHA I LOVE MONO HES SUCH A SQUISHY LIL GUY I WANT TO SQUASH HIM (non-lethal)

H e IS a little guy

for now

[skitskatdacat63]

Hey do you remember all those videos of Fernando smelling flowers? Haha yeah....

[todayisafridaynight]

aoki deserves a billion and one knives to the organs but tbh if i showed up to the husband of my ex's ceremony Of Which Was The Same Guy Who Made Me Look Like A Jackass On My Birthday and she was like 'wow youre so charming and sophisticated' after i overheard her calling me a creep and a weirdo On My Birthday i think i wouldve killed myself on the spot in front of everyone so good on him for not doing that I Guess

[waywardsalt]

probably going to rework my human bellum design again

[sonknuxadow]

they werent lying that knuckles series barely has knuckles in it

[beeapocalypse]

oh tma is nipping at my heels. i miss the extinction

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[mossterunderthebed]

my baby Yuuji is so feral 💖