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[yourlocalbarbecuechicken]

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Hello. You can call me:

☆ Barbecuechicken

☆ Barbecue

☆ Barbe

☆ Chicken

☆ Or my full user name

She/her, but I also like to read male/gender-neutral reader-insert fanfics.

Rules - Checking this if you want to request anything is mandatory.

I got/get my dividers from Tumblr users @saradika-graphics and @diviniyae

Rants/Opinions -

Twisted Wonderland

A.I Writing

Older Reader Drought

I don't know how to title this one

Writing Amnesia

You are What You Eat

Prince Lowkey Gets Treated Like a Weekend Lover We Can Forget...

"Write it yourself!" - except I have been and I just don't want to do it anymore.

Works -

Twisted Wonderland

Blue Lock

Real life

[randomchaosyay]

Azul Ashengrotto who loves his buff! wife

Azul who genuinely finds your strength so atractive

Azul who uses you as a shield from the leech twins on occasion

Azul who loses it whenever you send him a gym pic, who sits there in his office trying to regain his composure

Azul who asks you to open all his jars

Azul who begs asks you to "help" rearrange furniture in his dorm or in the lounge, more often than he probably needs to. (He really just wants an excuse to watch you flex your muscles)

Azul who loves being manhandled. He won't admit it, but he really does.

Azul who nearly fainted when he first caught a glimpse of your abs when you stretched.

Azul who loves being the little spoon

Azul Ashengrotto who has a marriage contract he crafted himself hidden away for future use

divider creds: x

[thememedaddy]

[thememedaddy]

[rometoney]

Lauryn Hill surrounded by her five children.

[rottnrbbn]

idk why some people in the Creepypasta fandom are so fucking obsessed with making the characters pedophiles, rapists, and even writing INCEST about the characters. I keep seeing blogs that write about incest between the Creepypastas, I understand the point of writing is to express yourself and what you like but it is absolutely disgusting to see those kind of fics.

and I know some people are going to be like “don’t like dont read” and I get that but that shouldn’t excuse the incest and pedophile fanfics. I 100% believe that what you write shows how you think and feel about certain stuff—so seeing people write those kind of fanfictions is absolutely fucking disgusting and you should be disgusted with yourself, because why are you so drawn to writing incest? There is so no reason for you to be writing about incest between characters (I just saw a blog that is called the-woodcest-guy and he writes NSFW INCEST ABOUT JEFF AND LIU, I blocked him)

it’s also especially worse when people write characters that ARENT related to be related in order to write incest fanfics. For example, dad Tim wright and son Tobias Rodgers, I SAW A DRABBLE WITH THIS! And it is absolutely disgusting and you’re disgusting.

[yourlocalbarbecuechicken]

This but with the entire fanfic/fandom community.

Honestly. Get your heads out of the gutter!

[yourlocalbarbecuechicken]

Bonnie and Clyde

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Blurb: Running from law enforcement is certainly a romantic date idea.

Pairing: Ruggie Bucchi x reader

Warning/Disclaimer: Aged up Ruggie (imagine the both of you being in your early - mid twenties). Written with the intent for you to pick the gender of the reader-insert. Y'all are criminals. Reader-insert is not Yuu. A total of two curse words. I know, I know, very scandalous. First time writing Ruggie. Possibly out of character.

Author's Note: I just randomly got this idea and HAD to write about it. Y'know how Bonnie and Clyde were a couple who committed crimes? That's the type of feeling I was going for and trying to convey. Moment of silence for me to relish in Ruggie's beauty 😌.

Your throat burned as you ran.

Sweat dribbled down your forehead as the small crunches of the sediment covered alleyway floor reached your ears. Your face gradually began to turn red as your body was forced into a workout it wanted no part in, the said body being concealed by black clothing that hid your silhouette.

Despite doing this for years now, the escape that came after doing lawless activities was never less daunting. Whether it was cowardice—which by now should've disappeared with how long you have been in the game—or something else, you still swore your form would explode if you continued this strenuous activity of running. Eyelids, which belonged to you, fell over your eyes as you felt the wind behind you almost propel you forward.

There, in front of you, was your partner in crime, Ruggie Bucchi. Or, as you would more affectionately claim, the love and light of your life. Ruggie—fortunately—reciprocated this title.

His head, which was covered by a black beanie, bobbed as he ran in front of you. His hand, now less bony than it was when you first began your criminal escapades, was wrapped around your own tenderly and protectively.

"This isn't working," a voice, one belonging to Ruggie declares. Your eyes snap open to focus on him. The man ahead of you continues his strides with precision, not bothering to confront your attention on him.

"What do you want to do then? And make it quick—your decision. They are almost catching up to us," you retort quickly as you rotate your head. True to your words, the justice obsessed group of people—also known as the police—were gaining more ground.

It's weird if you think about it. After so many years commiting all you guys have been committing, it shouldn't have been so easy for law enforcement to reach you.

Actually, in reality, these weren't just any police men or women. Rather they were ones at the top of game—world leader guard dog level if you will.

Ruggie went silent for a moment. Quiet huffs were released from his dry lips as he became more aware of the situation at hand. Without hesitation, he reached into his pants' discrete front pocket to fish something out.

Something like a grenade.

"Stay close to me." You obliged immediately and watched blankly as Ruggie somehow began to carry you on his back, his pace never faltering.

Delay was not a virtue he lived by—not like he really lived by any in first place, but I digress—and he threw the said weapon not long after announcing its existence. The safety pin was removed of course. True to his hyena beastman roots, Ruggie's legs amped up in speed in order to avoid the explosion.

"Shit!" A male police officer gruffly shouted as he spotted the green device. Before he could warn his fellow colleagues, the grenade unfortunately denotated and left behind a glorious eruption of bright flames.

You could faintly feel the residual heat of the explosion on your covered back as you hung onto your lover. Despite this, you refused to look back having already been used to scenes like this.

The ever resourceful and street-smart Ruggie eventually found another string of alleyways to which he diverted to. Shortly after, he found section of the area that could be a suitable temporary hiding place.

Placing you down clumsily, the hyena beastman stiffly cracked his back.

"Argh..." he groaned lightly. You watched on, amused.

"What's up with that, Ruggie? You are not that old."

He side-eyed you which resulted in you releasing a few light-hearted giggles. And, like all things in life, the giggles faded away, and you allowed the horrendous, withered wall to support your back as you leaned against it.

A weirdly domestic silence passed between the two of you as you allowed your haggard breath to smoothen out. Ruggie's eyes—which seemed to eternally retain its pure-hearted demeanor—softened as it landed on your peaceful, yet sweaty, visage.

"F/N."

"Ruggie." You pulled down the mask that covered your mouth, desperate for air to dry your face.

Hearing no follow up words, you decided unconsciously to soak up the sounds of night, your eyes closing once more. The earlier adrenaline had now faded away, and all you wanted to do now was to make it back to the vehicle.

A chorus of soft sounds—most definitely from clothing—were made.

"F/N."

"Ruggie."

"Look at me."

You looked.

Ruggie was positioned in front of you, his form being manipulated into a kneeling position.

You felt your composure physically retreat from your body.

"F/N." This was the third time he has said your name now. Does this man know any other words? You ponder this to yourself. "From the moment I—fuck—let's restart." A chuckle escapes you, and a shaky smile grows on Ruggie's—now—uncovered face. "F/N, my love, my bullet to my gun—" Man, get to the damn point. "You've been by my side. Thieving, running, dashing away from scenes, hell—you've even killed a couple people just for me." You smile fondly at the memory. "You give me a reason to live besides experiencing the thrill of crime; I can see a future with you. One where I can provide all your wants and needs." He takes in a shaky breath, his blue optics gazing lovingly into your own. "I just want to say—and it's from the bottom of my heart—that I love you." Water gathers in your eyes.

"Ruggie—"

"Shut up."

You were silenced.

"I love you so much, F/N," Ruggie continues like it was nothing. "I'll do anything to stay by your side."

A shaky breath is soon dragged in.

"And, it's because of this, that I want you to stay by my side." Slowly, Ruggie slips the safety pin of the grenade over your ring finger. "Stay with me, F/N, and I promise I'll give you the world just as you are mine. Love me, F/N, and I'll never fail to display my devotion for you. Care for me, F/N, and I'll be all that you desire and more." Tears are now pouring out of your eye sockets. Your hand automatically weaves itself around Ruggie's, and your lover gathers more confidence. "Will you...will you marry me?"

The agreement that leaves your mouth was one of the easiest decisions you have ever made.

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Author's Note: That proposal was inspired by that one scene in Spy x Family. I hope the proposal is actually romantic to anyone who reads this and not horribly cheesy.

[spookess]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. AND I'LL LISTEN TO THE MEMORIES AS THEY CRY

in which: shared breaths in your first and last meeting since you parted ways

gn any chara x gn reader

content/warnings: mitski references, references to sex but it never happened, basically poetry to me, some kind of heart ache angst, lots of crying

author notes: mitski :(

you've missed them so much. desperately, so much that your heart and soul have been aching like multiple stab wounds left untouched and unhealed.

they've felt the same, you know it. you know by the way their lips refuse to part from skin. by the way their hands hold you so tight their fingernails leave leave lines and crescents on your flesh. the only time they pull away, it's to hold your face and gaze at you with teary, lovedrunk eyes. they force their words out.

"I love you so much. so much it hurts." they press against you again, and you reciprocate. you head is dizzy, but you'd rather hold your breath than pull away from them for even a second.

you'd would let them open your chest and pull your heart out. they'd let you do the same. you're like gods to each other, or angels sent from heaven just to depart with everything you gave them.

your tears mix, trailing down your chest as they kiss all over your skin. they leave gentle hickeys on your neck. not a sign of sex, but a marking. they were there. they wanted everyone to know that even when you parted, it was left with sorrowful kisses. this sadness and anger that two intertwined souls were torn apart.

you sink your teeth into their neck, trying to draw blood because maybe if some of it touches your tongue you'll be physically bound together. they're crying, tears falling without being accompanied by sniffles and sobs. just tears.. accepting you'll never truly get eachother.

it hurts too much to make love again, but all you want is to be inside them and you think "we could be closer." you want to be closer to them.

they against your chest, murmurs of sadness mixed with praise for you drifting in the air. your fingers find place in their hair, stroking as if anything could calm either you.

but eventually, you'll fall against each other, tears drying because you're both so exhausted. maybe you'd be happy if you weren't so dependent on them. it's unhealthy but all you can think about is how bad you want them. they feel the same.

but you're both used up, bodies weak and minds weaker. soft sighs drifting though the air as they hold you and you hold them, the way you did when you thought you would never be away from them.

the room is a mess, their clothing and yours covering the floor. not because you'd been intimate, but because you wanted to feel every sense, every nerve against theirs. the sweat, the heavy breaths, every freckle and mole. if you could feel it, you wanted it against your forever. what do you with a loving feeling, if the loving feeling makes you all alone? no one wanted to answer your questions or theirs.

"I love you," you spoke into eachother.

the last words of a shooting star.

all work belongs to @spookess. do not steal/repost without credit or feed to ai .

[yourlocalbarbecuechicken]

Touch, Touch, Touch, Touch, Touch

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Blurb: Physical affection and Jamil Viper.

Pairing: Jamil Viper x reader

Warning/Disclaimer: No specified chapter of where of this takes place. Reader-insert is not Yuu. Reader-insert is a second year and is in the Scarabia dorm. Established relationship in the latter half of the fic. Written with the intent for you to pick the gender of the reader-insert. Possibly out of character Jamil. This piece is really just a headcanon disguised as a story.

Author's Note: Thought about you way too much, much, much, much, much.

Touchiness was not something the vice-housewarden for Scarabia exhibited.

Coming from an upbringing that valued impeccable results, quick service, and the lack of making yourself known, the act of making a physical connection with a body other than yourself was frowned upon.

Jamil, the ever-so dilligent servant slave he was, lived by this rule.

Very well, actually.

He restricted the amount of touch he gave to his peers, limited the time his arm spent on another person.

He did this so well, in fact, that in both the House Asim household and the Scarabia dorm, there were frequent rumors that claimed he thrived in it.

And in all honesty, that belief wasn't too far fetched.

Gone were the days of desperate attempts to be seen.

Gone were the days where he clinged onto the arm of his mother, his body still craving for the warmth it never fully got.

Gone were the days where he pathetically sought for the light-hearted squeezes that would come with true companionship.

However, what was not gone was the small, lingering light within him. The light that craved to be nurtured, to be grown and noticed. The light that yearned to be able to shine and glow with pride. The light that still wanted the loving touch of another.

But despite this, in classic Jamil fashion, he ignored it.

Pushed it away.

Deemed it as, "unnecessary."

Buried it deep into his heart so that no one—not even himself—would be able to identify it.

And, for a while, it worked.

Extremely well.

Concerningly well.

Gradually, as time passed on and the countless students of Night Raven College moved on with their lives, Jamil forgot about the tiny spark that wanted a person's touch. He now walked through his life completely in a dazed, gray haze, free from the vibrancy that would be born from actual living.

It remained like that for a good amount of time.

Jamil did his servant slave duties.

Jamil stayed away from "useless" interactions.

Jamil stopped craving for someone to envelope him in the love he never fully got.

That all crumbled when he finally fell in love with you.

You, oh you.

In all honesty, he hadn't even noticed you at the beginning of the school year. How you did catch his eye and cause him to fall heel over head for you—though—is a rather unremarkable and boring story that would be better saved for a different time.

What truly matters here is the impact you've made on the long-haired male.

And gosh, did you make an impact.

Unabashedly, you welcomed your now lover, Jamil, into your heart. Causing him to be encompassed by unconditional adoration and infatuation.

You showered him in the attention that he never received. Graced his smooth, sun-kissed skin with pecks that left him red. Regularly sent him gifts (small usually but big when you were able to) that displayed your never ending care and concern over him. You loved him, and you didn't hesitate to make that known.

Of course, Jamil expected this. He had watched you before the two of you became entangled (admittedly more closely than he would for others), and observed how you behaved around your friends. However, what he wasn't expecting was how easy it was to reciprocate your love. And in some cases, he even went above what you did.

Slowly but surely, that once suppressed and oppressed spark within him became a blossoming flame which radiated passion.

The times his well trimmed hand would rest on your arm—previously a rare event that would cause a celebration but you never really reacted to—became more frequent. And more clingy.

Yes, you read correctly.

Jamil was starting to cling onto you.

He honestly couldn't believe it himself.

Him? Jamil Viper, eternal servant slave to the Asim Household, personal attendant to the Asim heir, clinging onto someone?

If there was no proof, saying that to one of his fellow classmates would result in them saying, "Hah! I'll believe that when fae get human life-spans!" Or, whichever saying they have which is similar to pigs flying.

Jamil found himself hovering around you more which you obviously didn't mind.

In the uncommon times where he would finally have time for himself, he would immediately make plans to spend it with you. Whether the both of you would be in your dorm room or his was usually a spur of the moment decision. Despite this, your hangouts almost always ended in the same way: Jamil caressing you as you both laid on a soft surface, his eyes relaxing behind closed eyelids as you gently ran your hands through his hair. During these moments, the only sounds being emitted would be a shared, synchronized breath—courtesy of the two of you—as Jamil bathed in your presence and worship. His mind reaching a mythical sort of tranquility.

Jamil could get used to this as if he wasn't already getting used to it before. He really could.

You became his safe space, his closest confidant, and treasure way quicker than he predicted. And, contrary to what people might think, he didn't dislike that at all. He was more than comfortable with the circumstance at hand.

It's safe to say that Jamil loves you.

And, he certainly enjoys the free embraces that come with it.

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Author's Note: Lowkey had fun writing this.

[yourlocalbarbecuechicken]

Exiguous

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Blurb: Freddie loves to gift the people he cherishes.

Pairing: Freddie Mercury x reader

Warning/Disclaimer: Established relationship, y'all are engaged. Taking place during 1978. Written with the intent for you to pick the gender of the reader-insert. Angsty I think? The story might sound incomplete, which I apologize for.

Author's Note: First time writing for him...kinda nervous 😬. Can we please just take a second to appreciate his beauty? I mean, look!

To say that Freddie Mercury didn't love you would be a lie. The man loved you like no other, looked upon your form as if you were the finest of diamonds, gazed at you with such devotion that it rivaled the most dramatic of plays, and would carry you to Mercury and back if you so wished.

And likewise, you felt the same. Perhaps not as exaggerated as his, but surely you understand.

Now, it's important to note that Freddie Mercury was a rich man.

A very rich man.

Not noticing that would be idiotic on your end for, it mean you would have to ignore the massive global success his band—Queen—had reached, and that ginormous rock on your ring finger.

Yes. Riches were now something that came to him easily.

As a result, when you combine your lover's big heart with his equally massive paycheck, you get gifts. Lots of gifts. All of them incredibly luxurious and terrifyingly expensive.

Not like it was an issue to Freddie Mercury, though.

As said before, you're with a rich man. And, as Freddie always said to you in that calming yet theatrical voice you loved, "Money is meant to be used!"

And while you certainly enjoyed the riches, and the privileges you received due to them, you couldn't help but think Freddie's love to spoil you via presents was becoming...well...overbearing while simultaneously being exiguous.

You felt guilty for that thought, your mind racing with self-deprecations for appearing to seem ungrateful for the wonderous life Freddie bestowed upon you. If one were to do a few backflips and refuse to use their brain, they could—without issue—claim that you were exactly that; an ungrateful, superficial, gold-digger of a lover. However, that goes to say that they would also have to neglect the multitudes of factors that negate the claim, and the fact that that Freddie was using the numerous supplies of gifts as a replacement for his presence.

You weren't dumb. You caught on pretty quickly onto what he was doing.

He frequently left you alone for days—sometimes weeks or months on end during touring season.

The home was free of his being until late at night when he would finally arrived home.

The few times you were able to catch your fianceé before he left were practically useless, though. He was barely able to spare you a glance before heading out the door to do...something.

Soon enough, a certain scene was becoming more and more sickeningly familiar to you.

It consisted of this: you—alone on the bed, mountains of riches across from you. Beside your duvet covered body, true to the words previously said, was a painfully empty space due to Freddie always being gone doing who knows what. Perhaps he was spending yet another day engaging in a long and heated session in the studio with his bandmates.

Another day which he could've spent with you.

Stop.

Stop right there.

Who are you to dictate how he should spend his time?

Freddie is busy—you know that—and yet this is how you think of him?

You truly are a selfish, self-serving, scumbag.

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Author's Note: I hope this sounded cohesive and the sad part didn't appear to come out of the blue. Exiguous is a formal way to describe something as scanty or meager.

[aziblueblog]

I know I have shared this creator's video before, but this time I found it in 3D, so I had to share it again.

The name off the account that posted this video is SOGOGI-JUK

[sunsetdriver11]

okay diva😍

[qamar2026]

I write these words with a broken heart. To those who read this and choose to ignore it, you can simply scroll past, but I am living through the most difficult moments of my life. My husband is slowly dying before my eyes. Due to a severe head and jaw injury, he has been unable to eat or drink for over a week, his weight has dropped to just 39 kilograms, and he is suffering from severe, life-threatening malnutrition.

[qamar2026]

The doctors confirmed he needs urgent surgery, but we can't afford the operation and treatment. I feel helpless watching him weaken day by day, while time is running out.💔

chuffed - Vetted#53

[qamar2026]

I'm not asking for the impossible; I'm simply asking for a chance to save his life. Please, if you can't donate, don't hesitate to share our story. It might reach someone who can give him a new lease on life.💔🙏

[appafanclub]

Hi! How are you? 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

I recently read your fanfiction "Interview with Oprah" and I really enjoyed your writing!

I'd like to ask if you could elaborate a bit more on the topic of having a relationship with Prince or being married to him? Like, what would life be like with him, you know?

(English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes 🫠)

Married Life

Prince Nelson x Fem!Reader - Part 1

Masterlist

Summary: After a tiring day working at the studio on your new album, all you want to do is be in the calming presence of your husband as he only wants the same.

W/C: 2.9K

A/N: Thank you so much for the request!! I love this relationship dynamic so much that I will definitely be making it a series. If you would like to send a request for any future chapters on what you would like to see, feel free to do so <333

You take a much needed sip of water after a whole singing session into the microphone. Currently working on your new album, you've spent majority of the day in the studio.

After repeating takes, changing lyrics, listening to what has already been made, everyone in your team is ready to turn in for the day. Including you, before one of the audio engineers points out, "we have another song scheduled to work on."

A series of loud sighs can be heard as you pace absentmindedly around the room. Your hands rub exhaustedly over your face before reaching a conclusion. "We've spent way too long in here" referring to the song, "let's just leave it for tomorrow."

Everyone seems to be content with your answer as they murmur in agreement. Particularly your manager who leaves the room immediately without a single goodbye. Following suit, the rest of the team begin to pack away their belongings and recite a brief farewell to one another.

You do the same, pulling your fur coat securely over your shoulders in preparation to enter the cold air outside. And despite it being very late, you ensure the pair of sunglasses you routinely wear is ready to face the paparazzi who are currently waiting for you.

A group of security guards follow you quietly out of the studio as the door opens and you're unwillingly greeted with cameras flashing and recording. Despite the intrusion and incessant light, you smile and wave at the people calling your name whilst being safely guided to your chauffeured car.

A specific question catches you off guard. "Y/N, what do you think of Oprah's comment about working with you?" Your eyes search for the person who's asking, but you're unable to find them in the drowning crowd.

Instead, you stop in place. Speaking in the direction of where you heard the question, "what did she say?" You're completely unaware due to being held up with work all day in the studio.

A different woman answers. She's located at the front of the crowd as she lowers her camera, "she's stated that you're the most difficult person she's ever worked with."

You look to the side, scoffing in disbelief of her words thought you're still slightly amused. "Can you believe this?" You direct your question at the security guard who smiles back at you. Turning to the crowd in front of you again, you respond to Oprah's comment, "well, the feeling's mutual."

Everyone's eyes widen, including the security guards around you as one freezes midway through opening your car door, taken aback by your unexpected answer. You pass casually and enter the backseat, thanking him whilst settled as he nods and closes it.

"Straight home?" Your driver, Daniel, looks at you through the rearview mirror. He's reached his mid-thirties. Working for you since the beginning of your career over ten years ago, the two of you often engage in conversation during journeys.

"Yes please, Dan." You ignore the increasing noise and commotion erupting outside which you essentially caused.

You finally get the chance to relax as you sink into the luxury seat of your car. Enjoying the rare few moments of peace and quiet, you decide to finally speak up, "how's the family?"

"Same old," he lightly shrugs, "can't really complain." He lives with his wife, Sian, his son from a previous marriage, as well as the daughter they have together.

You nod, turning to look out the window as the streets of Minneapolis pass. Since moving from LA, the calmness you find in this area is unmatched. The once glitz and glamour you thought you could never live without soon became boring once you met Prince and occasionally visited his estate here.

As your relationship was intentionally made secret, the commute was heavily hidden from the media which meant you had to ensure no one would see you. During that time, you grew to love Minneapolis, realising that you could picture yourself living in this environment.

You discussed living conditions with Prince before the wedding and eventually concluded that you'd make the move here.

"My missus is thinking about having another kid," Dan sounds stressed, as if he doesn't agree with the idea.

"Aw, that's lovely," you always make the effort to sound positive when parents talk about their children. "How do you feel about it?"

"I can't stand the two I have right now," he laughs under his breath, his tone reveals there's truth behind his statement.

"You shouldn't say that," your brows furrow at his harsh words, "having kids is a blessing, and it's not very nice to say that when you have two that are already born." You try to make his understand, "they wouldn't appreciate hearing what you said."

He sighs dramatically at your perspective to his situation. Changing the subject, he lifts a packet of cigarettes, "mind if I smoke?" Your head shakes, allowing him to do so. Despite you always saying that he can, he always asks. Opening the window, he releases a puff of smoke into the air. Daniel's mentioned before that he turns to his habit of smoking in response to stress.

"Speak to your wife," you begin to relay advice, meeting his stare in the rearview mirror once again, "kids are a big responsibility. If you don't want to have another, she'll understand, don't force yourself to have just to make her happy."

He places the cigarette between his teeth once again as he bites nervously at it, "y'know a lot about kids." He makes an assumption.

"I was the eldest of five kids," you laugh at the reminder, "I was basically a second mom."

"Is that so?" He turns into another road, "what was that like?" The two of you occasionally exchange stories. And despite you having already told him before, he's asking again.

"My mom liked going out," you have a clear image of her in your head with the extravagant party outfits she wore on Friday and Saturday nights. "She'd leave me alone with my siblings since I was like...six." Your brows knit together as you try to recall how old you were

"Six?" He looks back at you in disbelief, "to change diapers and deal with babies?"

"That's right," you nod with a smile. It's always so amusing to retell your childhood and gather people's reactions.

"I can't even take care of one right now and I'm a grown man," he reevaluates himself, "how did you do it?"

"I ask myself the same thing," you break into laughter, "how did I do it when I was so young?" Pausing for a brief second, you begin to reflect and figure out an answer, "I guess I just never really blamed my siblings for it."

"That's a pretty strong thing to do," he praises, "do you blame your mom?"

"That's a difficult one," you suddenly find that you're questioning yourself again, "to an extent, I guess. It was a weird time in my life."

Being your husband, you've vented to Prince about this topic many times. And despite being calm in front of Daniel, you've broken down multiple times with Prince as you can't even believe that a mother could just leave her young child to look after their baby siblings as she goes out with other men.

You'll cry as he takes you into his arms. Brushing his fingers over your back as he whispers reassuring words. Sometimes he'll share his own stories from his childhood. Despite his harsh upbringing and violent treatment from his father, he still maintains the strength to forgive him.

Once learning this, you were deeply affected. You believe it's why the two of you are so compatible. Throughout all the hardships in your life, you’re able to talk and move past it. Never forgetting, just learning to live with it.

Daniel hums at your answer as the gates of Paisley Park come into view. The car stops in front of the entrance, ensuring you won’t need to walk too far, you collect your handbag before shuffling into the next seat and opening the door.

“Thanks, Dan,” you always make it a habit to thank your drivers.

He turns directly to look at you, rather than in the rearview mirror, “thank you for the good advice.”

You release a small laugh at his kind words, “see you tomorrow.” Closing the door as he moves off, your hand lifts to wave a goodbye before turning completely and entering your home.

The estate is heavily secure. Prince ensures that strict protocols are enforced to protect the two of you. You politely greet a security guard as he opens the front door for you to go through as he wishes a good evening.

Your first instinct is to find your husband. The last time you saw him was in bed this morning. His chest always rests against your back as he restricts you from leaving even on days when you’re significantly late.

The last time you spoke was during the early afternoon. On a break, you decided to spend the next few minutes calling his number to have a brief catch up. Today, he was also at the studio to work on his newest project.

You walk into the living room to expectedly find your husband resting against the couch with his eyes closed. You assume he’s sleeping after the tiring day until you walk closer and his eyes open.

From behind, your arms wrap gently around his neck as you press a kiss against his cheek. “What are you up to, mush?”

“Thinking,” he pats your arm which holds him. Looking straight ahead before turning to you and pressing a small kiss on your lips.

“What about?” You encourage for him to continue, rubbing your nose against his cheek. A gesture the two of you give to one another on a regular basis to show affection.

“Work,” he replies bluntly as his leg moves to lie on the other. His hand pats the space next to him on the couch, “sit next to me.”

“I will,” you smile at his request for you to be closer to him, “I’m just going to grab some food.” There’s a team of staff who prepare your daily meals. Your brows knit together slightly as you check in with Prince, “have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry,” his head shakes as his arm extends to reach for the TV remote, “I’ll eat later.” He rarely gets the time to watch anything with how busy he gets. It’s the same for you too.

“Alright,” you nod, leaving the room to head towards the kitchen.

Upon entering, only one of the chefs stand there. She lifts the pan lid to inspect whether it’s finished as she looks up at the sound of your footsteps.

“Hi, Duha,” you smile at the familiar face as she reciprocates the greeting. “How are you?”

“Doing well,” she cleans her apron through lightly brushing whatever is left on it, “food is ready.”

“Amazing,” your face lights up as you’ll finally be able to eat something and relieve your hunger, “smells good.”

“Thanks,” she laughs shyly under her breath at your compliment, something she’s used to hearing but still gets flattered by.

She collects a dish to pour the contents into as you wait patiently by the door. “Have anything planned for the rest of the night?” You make small conversation as Duha thinks for a second.

“Not tonight,” she answers honestly as her face brightens at the next thought, “but I’m going out to watch a movie with my friends tomorrow.”

“Oh, what film?” You can’t help but smile at how excited she seems to be.

“Titanic,” her grin widens at the mention, “it’s the first showing at our local cinema.”

“Tell me how it is,” you ensure she does, wanting her input on the film as you weren’t able to attend the premiere despite being invited a month prior. You weren’t able to go due to intense wedding planning as it would take place a few days later.

“I will,” she sings happily as she hands a small tray with your plated meal into your grasp. “I hope you enjoy.”

“Thank you so much,” you always remain grateful to all of the staff for their services. As Duha will be leaving for the night, you say your farewell, “take care, I hope you enjoy the movie if I don’t see you during the day tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” her hands lock behind her back as she retires to a staff room where all of their belongings reside.

As she does that, you leave the room to walk back into the living room where your husband is. Finally being able to take a seat next to him, he drops the remote to the side.

His elbow rests on the back of the couch as it supports his head. Admiring you despite having your mouth full of food, Prince chimes, “you smell good.”

“I do?” You hardly believe it. After sweating all day in the studio, you’re far from smelling like roses. But your husband doesn’t think so as he nods and continues to stare at you with a genuine smile.

“Hm,” you stifle a laugh as you can’t help but feel trapped under his gaze. “Stop looking at me,” you drop your spoon of rice back into the bowl, “I feel like I can’t eat properly.”

“What?” Prince becomes confused at your sentence before breaking into a laugh, “just eat.”

“I’m trying,” your hand slowly moves to readjust his head so that he’s looking at the TV instead of you. Backfiring, he turns back to you again as you sigh in annoyance.

“How was your day?” He makes conversation which you prefer a lot more.

“Busy,” you recall everything which happened in the studio, “and yours?”

“Same,” he nods, brushing his finger absentmindedly against the fabric over your thigh. “We’ve had this intern who’s been helping out with setting up the instruments,” he describes as you nod and take another bite of your food. “Walked in on her and a songwriter making out.”

He explains it so casually because it’s such a common encounter. It’s something you’ve seen happen on countless occasions. “How old are they?”

“She looks really young, probably in her early twenties” his eyes squint, estimating the man’s age, “he’s somewhere in his forties.”

“Married?” You ask about his background.

“Wife and two kids,” Prince confirms as your head shakes in disappointment.

“Poor family,” you look down at your food, suddenly depressed as he agrees with you.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence before you speak up again, “have you heard what Oprah said about me?”

“No,” Prince turns to look at you from the TV. You’re currently watching some rerun of ‘Friends’ since there’s nothing else on.

“Well, me neither until someone said it as soon as I was on my way home.” Prince’s face already has a small smile before you’ve even completely explained. He finds whatever you say amusing. Like him, you know how to control a situation. Even with the media calling you stubborn, he views it as you standing your ground so no one can walk over you.

“She said I was the most difficult person to work with.” The two of you have hardly discussed the interview since it took place. Paparazzi have asked you follow up questions whenever they catch you in public. You have the capacity to answer without being shown as rude or a pushover.

After listening to what you described Oprah to have said, Prince’s brows raise. “You’re the difficult one?” He finds it rich to hear something so hypocritical come from her mouth.

“Someone’s calling me,” your phone rings which interrupts the conversation. Left on the table, you pick it up and immediately answer. “Hello?”

Your manager’s voice can be heard on the other end, “you’re fucking insane?”

“Okay, what did I do now?” Your eyes roll as he always seems to have something to complain about. The side of your husband’s lips curl as he leans closer to eavesdrop into the conversation.

“Why don’t we look at what you said about Oprah fucking Winfrey,” he keeps cursing which lets you know how angry he actually is. “I know you hate the woman, but that doesn’t mean you can say whatever you want about her.”

“First off, Ford” you scoff in disbelief at what he’s saying, “the woman hates me. And second, she said something first.”

“Oprah can say fuck all for all we care,” his tone heightens as he scolds you like a child, “but you have a reputation to maintain and I can’t keep looking after you with all the shit that comes out your mouth.”

“Take a day off,” you scream into the microphone before ending it and shaking your head at Prince, “I hate that guy so much.”

“What did you say?” He still doesn’t understand the context of the phone call as he smiles confusedly at you with knitted brows.

Your lips press together before answering, “I don’t think it’s even bad.” He nods, encouraging for you to continue. “I just said that I could say the same to her.”

“That’s what your manager is crying about?” He looks equally as confused as you laugh at what he’s saying. With everything that’s going on, you can always rely on your husband to be the voice of reason whilst everyone else’s reasoning stands incorrect.

Tag list

@akiraaa1239 @yourlocalbarbecuechicken

(Comment if you would like to be part of the tag list.)

[rena-lily]

Head canon: The first years love to say “ugh I’m gonna over-blot ” instead of I’m gonna kms. Every time they say it, the students around them just look concerned cause they’re the notorious group that went against their over-blotted house-wardens. Whenever they say it in front of their upperclassmen tho. There are varying reactions ranging from oh…Ok! To wtf???

They’re all equally concerned. It gets to the point where they have to hold a house-wardens meeting including vices(malleus was invited(for the first time in forever) and Ruggie bcs I mean cmon).

EACH of the first years are guilty of this btw. Like Ace and deuce say it all the time while they’re painting the roses and the other students around them just stare at them and slowly back away every time. Epel says it whenever he gets the chance(ofc not around Vil or rook unless he slips up) and let’s just say pomefiore is truly debating if their first year needs help. Jack also says it but like not that often unless like he’s really tired. So you can imagine Savanaclaws shock when they hear him say it after he got back from wherever the hell he was at with the first years(no seriously should we tell Housewarden???)(uhm no…? IDK???). Then you got ortho, Ngl I don’t know if ignihyde would be too shocked bcs let’s be honest they’re all gamers, they’ve def said some wild shit but maybe they would just slowly send a message to Idia just in case when they heard ortho say it like for the fourth time in just two minutes. Sebek? Well he wouldn’t say it often at all lile Jack but he does slip up when he’s especially tired. So you can imagine how his roommates would react to hearing him say that after he just got back from training. Like they’d be mildly concerned and debate telling someone. And finally for Yuu, THEY are the main culprit of this spread of the phrase to the other first years. They mentioned how it was a “normal” thing to say back in their world. So now they got all the first years saying it. They are also the one that uses it the most. Crewel heard them say it once and had to backtrack for a minute.

Idk me personally I say it a lot and like my friends and family are used to it but when I say it with someone outside of the usual circle without meaning to, they look at me like I’m crazy😭

[ss244]

This is from: Damnation au Author:@shiny-jr

Wtf I just found out you can’t send videos in asks??

Anyway hiiiii shiiinyyyy, this is more of a joking approach on the imp situation, they’re looking at the gate of Olympus with tears in their eyes thinking “damn, I’m gonna have to spend eternity with this guy”

The conversation they probably had when they were on the stairs lol

[shiny-jr]

Not MC realizing their stuck with this loser for all eternity, LMAO 😭. The audio is absolutely perfect but poor MC.

[yourlocalbarbecuechicken]

Dark Red

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Blurb: The quality time you are spending with your lover suddenly becomes tense as you think about his behavior.

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit x reader

Warning/Disclaimer: Soft yandere Vil. A yandere fanfiction written by someone who doesn't know how to write yanderes 💀. Established relationship. Reader-insert is lowkey beginning to recognize what is going on, but chooses to not do much about it. Written with the intent for you to pick the gender of the reader-insert.

Author's Note: Inspired by @shiny-jr's soft yandere Vil saga thing. You could interpret this piece of writing to be based off Steve Lacy's song, Dark Red. I only just realized this song could fit with the fanfic's vibe when I finished it.

The aroma of perfume laid a thick, sugary blanket over the golden and lilac dorm. In the background, the soft hum of old jazz music played in the background, providing an ambience that felt effortlessly warm. A well manicured hand dabbed and dotted your nose which flared at the scent of the—in your opinion—spicy air.

A huff was released, and with that, came the halting of the repetitive—yet also calming—movement.

"Mm," A smooth, seductive voice began, "please don't do that, dear. You'll disrupt my work."

Your eyes snapped open at the person's remark before laying themselves onto them once more.

"It can't be bothering you too much, no?" You retort playfully. "Surely it isn't that much of a deal."

A smile appears.

Vil looks at you with those eyes that could enchant anyone, his expression rid of the scrutinizing gaze he would send others if they were in a similar situation. A sigh escapes from his glossy lips, and he reluctantly moves away.

"Now, dear," he starts to speak once more, "you know that nothing you do could ever be a bother to me." His gaze latches onto your visage as he fully takes you in. The makeup which Vil was attempting—and possibly failed—to apply was scantily finished. Your hair, don't even get Vil started on your hair—he was not in the mood to even think about it—was left in its wildly messy state as a smirk slowly grew onto your face.

"Do you know how crazy that sounds? Careful, Vil, you almost sound lovesick."

"Crazy? How is that crazy? Are you claiming that my infatuation for you is something to be judged and laughed at?" His sharp eyes sharpen even more. "I'll have you know tha—"

"No, no. I obviously didn't mean it like that," you unabashedly interject. Vil's frown grows wider at your action. "It's just that...well..."

Silence.

"Well...?" Vil repeats.

"Well..."

No words are able to leave your mouth.

Although, perhaps it's better that way.

Be honest with yourself—truly and wholeheartedly. Do you legitimately believe that if you should inform Vil of your observations—of how you've caught him staring down close classmates with a frighteningly dark expression, of how you've noticed how he began to slowly pull you away from your friends, of how his touches gradually became more clingy and restrictive—that he wouldn't respond with a less than positive reaction?

Your mouth dries as your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. Desperately, you attempt to swallow nonexistent saliva as you feel—and see—Vil's gaze on you. You shift your head away in order to not be inclined to stare into his optics. Vil, with a remarkably soft expression watches your behavior.

"Forget it." It was quite unceremonious.

Your lover stares at you for a brief moment—longer than necessary—before using his strangely cold hands to pivot your face back to his own.

"Alright then, my dear," he softly brushes over. You watch dumbly as his golden locks unhurriedly reposition themselves.

Your eyes move to his lips, his violet eyes, and then finally to his hands once more.

"Close your eyes," he gently informs, and you're glad that he does. Strangely enough—but it's really not that strange once you link the instances—you can't bare to look at those deep eyes of Vil's much longer. All you can see is the love (?) that Vil has for you which feels cold, grimy, and controlling. The music doesn't feel as comforting was it was previously.

Obsession.

This is obsession.

Freezing, world-altering, obsession.

No love would act like this.

You can't even hide this under the guise of infatuation, for even that wouldn't be as oppressive.

Vil's hand stills and you can practically feel his gaze on your lips. A shudder runs down your back, and your eyelids lightly flutter due to this.

It's becoming clear to you what this situation is turning out to be.

Too bad you don't seem to want to link up the instances, though.

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Author's Note: I don't know if I like the ending...